Somebody Help Me, Please
by but-the-clouds
Summary: Read about Racetrack as he grows up and tries to avenge his father's death. This story takes you through events during and after the strike. All the chapters have been proofread, and the final chapter has been added. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

1Chapter One:

One of the newsies is in trouble.

Starts with the strike.

I don't own newsies...blah, blah. Some scenes/situations/diologue sequences may be taken from the movie, _Newsies._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

Racetrack woke to Kloppman's yelling, and Jack's moaning. That's always a wonderful thing to hear in the morning...NOT!

Gosh, for once, he wished he could sleep in. Oh, well. He sighed and pulled up his pants and strapped on his suspenders. Then, he turned to the night stand to grab the cigar he stole only the day before.

_Its gone!_

He worked hard to steal that ciga–_Snipeshooter!_

"Hey, dat's mine, Snipe! Give it heah, right now," ordered Racetrack, holding out his hand.

"I have no idea what you's tawkin' about," replied Snipeshooter, sucking on the unlit cigar.

"Dat's mine. Dat's my cigah!"

"Get ovah it! You'll lift anoddah one from someone's pocket!"

"Guys, c'mon," said Blink. "We have woik ta do. Big day."

"Whattah you? Me maddah?" asked Specs, passing him by.

"Wha's dat s'posed to mean?" asked Kid Blink.

"You's away's bawsen' us around, Kid. You's like a moddah hen, or somethin'," explained Mush.

"Aw, guys! Stop your bawlin'!" exclaimed Crutchy. Race shook his head and laughed, heading for the wash room. Crutchy asked about a new selling spot, and they all yelled out suggestions.

"Try Central Pahk," he suggested.

"You sure?" asked Crutchy.

"Yeah, it's a guaranteed sellin' spot."

"Try any bankah, bum, oah bahbah. They'se all sure t'ings," suggested Jack. Skittery snorted and muttered something about almost all of them knowing how to read, whatever he meant by that. Must be an inside joke. Racetrack washed his face and tried to find a towel that no one was letting him have, so, he just used Mush's shirt. Mush shot him a look.

"Sorry. Its hahd to know what you'ah grabbin' if dah soap's burnin' your eyes."

When they got outside, it was a nice clear day. They got their food from the nuns and ate on the way to the Distribution Center. Jack got into a fight with the Delancy's...again...which got them all hyped up.

"Brilliant perfoahmance, Jack! Bettah, den yestahday's!" exclaimed Race, laughing.

"You'ah too kind to me, Race, you'ah too kind!"

Then, Jack harassed Mr. Weisel...or Weasel, as they called him. He did this everyday. Race turned to Kid Blink.

"Could you spot me two bits?" he asked.

"No, you have enough money," said Blink.

"I wannah save that for a bet. It's a hot tip on the fourth. I ain't wastin' my money, I promise."

"_Race_."

"Okay, I also owe Jack two bits from last night, but I'm kinda hopin' he fahget's about it, ya know...but if he doesn't, I have somethin' to give 'im," explained Race. Blink finally gave in. Race nodded his thanks and headed over to the stands.

"Good mornin' your honah. Listen, spot me fifty papes, will ya? I got a hot tip on the fourth. It won't waste you money."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Fifty papes for Racetrack!"

After receiving fifty papes, Race sat down. He seemed undisterbed by the commotion behind him.There was a strange new boy there who got jipped by Morris.

"Nah, its nineteen, Weasel. It's nineteen, but don't feel so bad about it. You see Morris can't count to twenty with his shoes on," Jack joked. Then, being unusually generous he asked Race for money to buy this new kid some papes.

"But Jack..." Race said, quietly.

"_You owe me," _Jack whispered back.

"Heah," said Racetrack, flipping him his money.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

After the morning's excitement, he went over to Sheepshead Bay. Sold all his papes by the afternoon, then went to get lunch. He usually stole it, since they didn't have enough money to pay for even the cheapest restaurant. Restaurants were treats for them.

Race spotted his victim. An old man selling cornbread. Race hadn't had cornbread since his mother died. While the man was negotiating with another customer, Race took his chance and took the cornbread. Then, he ran. He ran as fast as he could.

"Stop! Theif!" yelled the old man. People chased after him, but Race was clever and hid around a corner, and climbed up a fire escape in an alleyway. He climbed up to the roof, and ran across, and down the stairs, through the apartment. He hid in an abandoned flat, and stayed in there until he was sure that the police weren't looking for him anymore. Then Race smiled his crooked smile and took a bite out of his cornbread, that was now a little smushed from being in his pocket. After Race was finished, and he was sure there were no bulls after him, he stepped out into the open and headed back to Sheepshead Bay, to the tracks. Once there, he placed his bet and leaned against the rail that separated the audience from the tracks. He waited until the horse's were lined up. Race couldn't tell how many times he's been to the race, but he still jumped after every gunshot that rang.

He wasn't sure why. He knew his father was killed at the end of a barrel, but this was a game. A race wasn't a hostile situation...but he still jumped.

And he jumped on this day, too.

The gun sounded, Race jumped, and the horses were off...

_C'mon, c'mon! Win! WIN!_ Race silently urged.

But the horse lost. Race pickpocketed another person, for a cigar, and was off. Race wasn't a clepto, he just stole what he needed to get by.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race didn't go home right away. He went over to Irving hall, and sat on the stage in the vacant theatre. He sat and waited for Medda. Jack, Blink, and Race were the closest to Medda. Medda was almost like a surrogate mother to them.

Well, Racetrack sat and waited. He puffed on his cigar, and swung his feat off the stage.

"Boy, first Jack, now you? I feel special today," Medda exclaimed, kissing Racetrack's cheek.

"You ah special Medda," replied Race.

"How ya been, kid?"

"Okay," Race tried to lie. He gave up saying, "Not really. I lost. I was positive I would win. I was so sure...but I lost."

"So you don't have money for dinner," she finished. Race looked up and nodded. Medda nodded. She wore a nice white blouse and navy blue skirt, with a white flowery hat. "Well, I was just on my way out. Want to come, kid?"

"You don't mind?"

They ate together in silence. Race ordered the cheapest things on the menu, feeling bad for taking Medda's money.

"Are you sure you only want soup? I could afford anything on this menu, you know," she commented.

"I know," said Race.

"Your quiet."

"I just can't believe I lost. It was a sure t'ing. I was gonna win!"

"Sometimes things don't turn out the way we plan."

"You'ah tellin' me," replied Race.

The rest of the dinner went by swell. Medda laughed at Race's jokes and sly remarks, and Race listened to her sing. Then, Race thanked her for a wonderful night, and started home, where he met up with Jack.

"Hey Race," he said.

"Hey, Jack."

"How was your day at the tracks?"

"Rembah dat hot tip I told you about?"

"Yeah?"

"Nobody told the horse..."

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Sorry I have to end this so abruptly! I will continue soon, I promise.


	2. Killer of the Past

Chapter 2:

Here's another chapter...hopefully its more exciting.

Warning: Flashback...I know, those things are usually really bad...this one is vital to the rest of the story!

Read & Enjoy!

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"Hey, Race," shouted Boots from across the room.

"Shhhh! People ah tryin' ta sleep heah!" yelled Mush.

"Hey, Boots," said Race as he settled himself in his own bunk.

"Didn't win, did ya?" asked Boots, already knowing the answer.

"Nah. Da hawses have somt'in against me, I guess. Oh, well...not everyone has ta love ya, right?" shot Racetrack with a half grin.

"Race, can I see you foah a minute?" asked Jack. Race nodded, and followed him out to the fire escape, and closed the window.

"I had dinner wit' dat Dave kid, and his family," Jack stated. Race stared at him blankly for a minute, expecting him to continue. Then he grinned and said.

"So, what's his secret? Is his family part wolf, oah somt'in?" Racetrack laughed. Jack's face smiled a little, but he didn't laugh.

"Race, I saw da guy who killed yoah faddah," explained Jack. Racetrack's smile dropped.

"What'dja say?"

"I said–"

"He's heah? I'll kill him! Wheah'd ya see 'im, huh?"

"Its David's dad," said Jack. Race gaped at him, not believing his ears. There was silence for a few minutes as Race tried to compose himself as best as he could.

"Where does he live, Jack?" Race demanded.

"Now, Race—"

"He killed my dad, Jack! He killed my faddah! He oaphaned me!"

"I know Race. I was theah," said Jack

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

_Keiran Higgins immigrated from Ireland to America in 1878. He was 24 years old. He found a good factory to work at in Manhattan, and there, he met a good friend of his, Peter Sullivan. Back then, Keiran didn't have a house to live in, and would sleep either out on the streets, or at people's houses overnight, if he could. Well, Peter knew this and offered him a place to stay. Peter was 27 years old, and was like an older brother to this dark Irishman. When I say dark, I mean feature wise. He was from part of the country that was mixed Latin and Irish, from an invasion that occurred years ago. _

_Anyway, he took up Peter's offer and stayed with him. They enjoyed working together. They were close friends and were rarely ever seen apart. They would go to bars together, Irving Hall, the races at Sheepshead, and even "girl hunting" as they called it._

_Two years later, Peter found the love of his life. Her name was Sophie, a girl who had only recently moved to Quebec from France, and was in New York to visit her cousin for the summer. When she went back to Quebec, Canada, Peter persisted to write her every day. He constantly begged her to come back to him. In every letter he asked her to marry him, and in every letter she answered, "no"._

_In the meantime, Keiran met this girl that moved to New York from New Jersey. She was only 19 years-old, but she was mature for her age. She moved with her family, because her father's job took him and his family around the world. She had already moved twelve places in her entire life, but she considered New Jersey her true home. Keiran was annoyed by this girl who kept on following him everywhere, at first. It was obvious that she had a crush on him. A lot of people did, so, who could blame her. He had green eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. She, on the other hand, was quite different. Here eyes were pools of coal, her skin an olive tone, Her hair a dark brown (almost black), and she was short. She was at least 5'1''_ or 5'2''. _He did eventually come to like the "lass", though. He started to find a lot of new things about her. For example, she enjoyed reading. She loved to write, and was of higher class than he was. She wasn't first class...maybe middle._ _She was half Irish and half Italian. Her dad was Italian and her mother was Irish. Hence her Irish first name, Leslie, and her Italian last name, Galazzo. _

_Eventually, the two started to court each other. Leslie's parents saw how in love they were, and gave them permission to marry. They married December 29th, 1880.He was twenty six and she was twenty. _

_Meanwhile, Peter was happy for them both. He thought they were perfect for each other. They were both funny and outgoing, and loved each other's company. Keiran was a goofy Irishman, and Leslie was the straight American (meaning she was the backbone of their jokes and antics). They had their serious moments, just as well. Keiran, of course, moved out of Peter's house, and Leslie moved in with him in a different house. All this was good, but Peter was missing his one and only true love. He wrote her a letter every day, and she always wrote him back. She answered every single letter. _

_A year later, Sophie told Peter that she was coming to New York, because she had a job interview there. She was applying for a job as a seamstress. _

_Peter met her at the train station, got down on one knee, and said,_

"_Now, Sophie, I'm gonna ax you one moah time...will you please marry me? I sweah, I'll die if you don't!"_

_She giggled when she saw this and said to him,_

"_Now, Mon Cheri, get up from zere. Zis is absurd!" she exclaimed in her marvelous French accent. _

"_Will you? Please, just answer me?" begged Peter. Sophie sighed, then smiled her most magnificent smile._

"_Of course I will! I love you, Mon Cheri!" she said, and Peter hugged her and kissed her full on the mouth, while people clapped and whistled for them. _

_Well, they got married that year. Keiran was the best man and Sophie's sister was the maid of honor. Sophie's parents were there, but they weren't enjoying themselves. Sophie seemed to try to avoid them the whole time. They, of course, wouldn't talk to their new son-in-law, just because he didn't have more than one-hundred dollars in the bank._

_They left early and no one heard from them again._

_Their first child was born in 1882. They named him Francis Sullivan. He was born on June second, on a stormy morning. He was smiling when he was born, and was the happiest baby anyone ever saw. It wasn't long before Sophie found out she was pregnant again. Her second baby was due around March. Soon after that, Keiran was to become a father. Leslie found out that she, too, was pregnant. She was pregnant with her first child. It was to be due in April. It was fun to watch the couple argue over baby names. Leslie wanted a nice Italian name and Keiran wanted an Irish one. _

"_What about Patrick? 'Tis a good name," suggested Keiran. _

"_Patrick? It seems like every Irish man wants to name his kid Patrick. How about Lorenzo?"_

" _I don't want him to be a character in one of your Shakespeare novels, Leslie."_

"_Okay...Mario?"_

"_Definitely not."_

"_Carmine."_

"_No."_

"_Salario?"_

"_Nope. Daniel?"_

"**Keiran**_..."_

"_Keiran! Now there's a good name!"_

"_No!"_

"_Guthrie."_

"_I hate that name."_

"_But _**Daniel**_'s a good name."_

"_Keiran, I don't want to name it after my uncle."_

"_We're not!"_

"_Well, I feel like we are. Every time I call out his name, I'll feel like I'm talking to Uncle Dan," she whined. _

"_Fine."_

"_How's Antonio?"_

"_Anthony."_

"_Anthony," she tried it out on her tongue before nodding. "Antony Daniel Higgins. Happy?"_

"_No."_

"_Keiran!"_

"_Anthony Keiran Higgins."_

"_Anthony Keiran Higgins, it is," she agreed. "Now for the girl's name..."_

"_Noooo!"_

_Ryan Sullivan was born on March 14, 1883. He weight a healthy seven pounds and two ounces. Anthony Keiran Higgins was born March 17th (St. Patrick's Day)...a full month premature. He was 5 ½ lbs. Doctors thought that little Anthony wouldn't make it, but Keiran and Leslie, and their family, and friends_ _prayed fervently for Anthony. _

_And under God's protective hand, Anthony lived. He was a small child, and would forever be small for his age, but he was alive, and that was all that counted. Because Anthony was premature, and almost no premature babies survived during this time, doctors wanted to keep a close eye on him. All his appointments were free, for they took pity on this impoverished family. Leslie didn't trust anyone with her baby for the first year, for it was so small and its immune system was weaker than most babies'. _

_But Anthony was rarely sick, and grew to be strong. When Anthony _**was**_ hit with an illness, which was rare, he was hit hard, and it was scary. _

_Leslie caught small pox when Anthony was seven. He wasn't allowed to see her while she was in the hospital. Sophie caught it, too. Only that year. Sophie was strong and pulled through. Leslie didn't. She died in her sleep, peacefully. She didn't suffer as many thought she would. Small pox was a horrible way to die. This was hard on everyone but they pulled through, because they had a family to feed and protect. _

_Anthony considered his friends his brothers. They weren't just really close, they shared a brotherhood, and a bond that couldn't be broken. Keiran and Peter were still_ _close, and depended on each other. Sophie was like a sister to Keiran and was a mother to Anthony, and would spend a lot of time with them to make sure that Keiran was getting along fine. _

_Sophie took on the job that Leslie once had, and taught the boys four hours a day, and they were only allowed to play after they finished their studies. They didn't have enough money to send their kids to a real school, but they made due with what they had._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

_In the meantime there was a man from New Jersey named Meyor Jacobs. He had a wife and two children of his won. Sarah was eight, David was seven, and his wife was pregnant with another. They were a nice, humble family. Mayor was happy with what he had, but he was desperate for money. He was in debt and left his family in jeopardy of starvation. _

_In his haste, he got a job, somehow, in a gang. He doesn't even remember how he came upon this job...but he did. His job was mostly just to drive the gang to locations, and they would pay him with stolen money. _

_Eventually, Mayor decided he had enough and told the leader, Frankie Diaz, that he was quitting. Frankie had other ideas. He told Mayor he could quit, but before he did, he had one more job for him to do. _

"_Listen, Jacobs, I work wit' dis guy. His name is Keiran. I want him...you know...eliminated," explained Frankie._

"_What did he ever do to you? I'm not doing this! Its crazy!"_

"_You are, and I want him dead because he got me fired the other day. I needed that job...I depended on it, but he took it away from me! I want my revenge. Listen, if you don't do this, your wife and kids die. If you do, they live _**and** _you get paid five big ones. That's right, Jacobs. You get paid five hundred dollars."_

_That night, for fear for his family, Meyor and Sanchez, another one of Frankie's workers, went over to Keiran's house, and bursted through the door. Sophie who was there with him and Anthony, screamed. _

"_Everyone on the floor! Right now! NOW!" Sanchez screamed. _

"_What's goin' on, Mama?" asked Francis, rubbing his eyes. Sophie put on her best smile and said, as calmly as she could, "What are you doing out of bed, Francis?"_

"_Get the kid out of here!" yelled Meyor. _

"_Mama?"_

"_C'mon, Mon Cherie. Come with Mama," she said, ushering small Francis back inside. When she came back out, Sanchez had Meyor tie her to a chair and ushered him outside. Sophie tried to scream as loud as she could to attract attention. Meyor led Keiran to an alley and shot him clear through the heart. _

"_NOOOO!" yelled a voice from outside the alley. It was Peter. He grabbed a nearby pipe. It was rusted, but heavy. He tried to hit Meyor over the head with it, but missed and Mayor got away, leaving the other guy. Peter swung again and bashed the man in the head. Sanchez was dead, for sure. The only problem was, the bulls saw him._

_Peter was tried in a court of law, but they couldn't afford a good lawyer, and he lost the case. He was thought to have killed both Sanchez and Keiran, and almost killed Mayor. No one believed him or his wife. Peter was sentenced to life in the state pen._

_Things were hard from then on. Sophie didn't know what to do. She had to go to work, but she couldn't leave the children alone. There was no one to trust anymore. Jack was nine, now. Ryan and Anthony were eight. This seemed an appropriate age to send them off to work, as well. There was shoe shining, or they could sell newspapers; or they could sell milk in the mornings, but that was only a morning job. They could sell buttons. Selling buttons was a good honest job...No, no, newspapers. It had to be newspapers._

_So, she sent them to the Newsboys Lodging House to sign them up. They would sell the whole day, while she worked in the factory that her husband once worked at, and they would all come home for dinner at 5:30, 6:00. _

_This process went well for two years. They were happy and quickly went on with their lives. Anthony was more quiet and withdrawn than he used to be, but the ten-year-old was strong. He was still small, and passed as seven or eight, which worked well for sales. _

_So, everyone was making money and all was good, like I said, for two years. _

_But one day, Francis, Ryan, and Anthony came home...and Sophie didn't. She was killed in the factory._

_Too much death in such a short time. _

_So the boys lived in the News Boys Lodging House with the other Newsies, trying to forget and dismiss their past..._

_...Until now._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

"Wheah is he, Jack?" Race begged, tears brimming in his eyes. Tears for his mother, tears for his father. It was only eight years ago, that his father died.

Eight years...

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	3. Hard Days

1Chapter 3:

Here's another chapter.

Thanks ,guys, for the reviews

Some of the dialogue and situations from this chapter is taken from the movie, _Newsies_.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Now, Race, you gotta calm down. You don't know all da facts. I mean, when I saw him, I didn't see the kinda man dat would just up and kill anoddah. We gotta t'ink dis through, ya know?"Jack said.

"He killed my faddah, Jack. Your pop's in jail because a dis man. I ain't gonna live in the same borough as him. Heck, I'm not willin' t shayah da same state as him. He deserves to die," Race repled, wiping his wet face with his sleeves.

"Race, people make mistakes."

"Oh, yeah, suah dey do...but noahmally not da kinds dat kill people!" Racetrack yelled, delirious with revenge.

"Race, you need to calm down and t'ink dis t'rough," suggested Jack, grabbing Race's shoulder and leading him back inside.

But Race wouldn't follow. He backed away and went down the fire escape, and ran into the darkness. Jack followed, rounding every corner Race did...

...until he realized he no longer knew where Race was.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race checked every house and window that he thought the Jacobs lived in. He saw Jack coming from this direction...it had to be near here. He stopped short when he heard a loud yell.

"David Aaron Jacobs! Go to sleep right now, young man!" scorned a female voice.

_Bingo_.

He climbed up a fire escape to a window, and there he spotted his victim. He pulled out a large stone that he found along the way.

He was about to throw...but then, he stopped.

Meyor kissed his daughter goodnight, and ruffled David's head. He was the quintessence of the perfect father. A true father. Funny, this man certainly _looked_ like the man that killed his father.

This man was different. He **did** see his father get killed by this man. He saw it out of his window that looked out above the alleyway. Jack's mom tried to stop him, but when she saw what was going on she froze too.

This man wasn't supposed to be loving and caring. He was supposed to be abusive and insensitive. He was a killer. He had no heart.

_This_ man did.

"I can't," Race said aloud. He backed away from the window and said it again, and again. "I can't...I can't...I can't."

"Is someone out there?" asked a voice. The person that the voice came from, poked his head out the window. It was that David kid.

"Go back to bed, kid," said Race, backing down the fire escape.

"Wait! You're the one they call Racetrack, right?" asked David.

"The one and the only," said Race.

"Did you want something?'

Race hesitated a bit. Should he ask to see the eyes of the man who killed his father._ No_.

"No, sorry. Wrong apahtment," he lied.

"Okay. See you tomorrow," he said, a little too cheerfully

"See ya."

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The next day was a hard day for Race to get through. Wherever he turned, there was David or Les, standing right there. The son of the man that killed his father. The more he looked and thought about him, the more he hated him. What kept him from whacking David's brains out, he'd never know. All he knew was that there was his dad's killer, running around out there, and he couldn't kill him. Physically he could, but emotionally, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Race walked over to Sheepshead Bay alone. He was used to being alone, and this day he especially enjoyed the silence. He wanted to clear his thoughts, but all he could think about that day, was revenge. If it wasn't for Mr. Jacobs, everything would be different. His dad wouldn't be dead, Jack's dad wouldn't be in jail, and Jack's mom probably wouldn't be dead either. So, in a way, Mr. Jacobs was responsible for two murders.

Race sold all his papes very quickly, but oddly enough, didn't stay to place a bet. He went home early, and met up with Kid Blink along the way.

"Hey Race. My brother was wondering where you were," Blink replied.

"And you weren't? Boy, I feel loved," commented Race, sarcastically. He was in no mood to answer to Jack. He didn't have to. It wasn't like Jack was _his_ older brother.

"How you doin?" asked Blink.

"Do you know?"

"Do I know what?"

"Nevah, mind."

"Yeah, I know."

"But you said–"

"Tryin' to lighten the mood a little," Blink answered, giving Race a sympathetic pat. "Don't do anything stupid, Race. Revenge won't help ya one bit."

"What do _you_ know, Blink? It wasn't yoah faddah," Racetrack yelled.

"Anthony...Tony..."

"No. Its Racetrack. No Tony. Don't 'Tony' me," said Race, quietly. By this time, they were finally making their way into the lodging house. Race paid Kloppman his penny and went upstairs.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The next day was a hard day for all the newsies. It was only David and Les's third day on the job. Race was up earliest, along with Blink, so they got the news earlier than everyone else. Jack was the last one there, and Kid Blink was the one to fill his brother in on the news.

"They jacked up the price! Can you believe dat, Jack? Ten cents a hundred!"

"This'll bust me, I'm bailey makin' a livin' right now," Skittery replied with a scowl, throwing his cigarette down in frusteration.

"I'll be back sleepin' on the streets," said Boots. Race patted him sympathetically.

"It don't make no sense. I mean, wit' awl the money Pulitzer's makin'...Why would he gouge us?" asked Mush. Though an innocent, yet dumb question , it had an obvious answer.

"He's a tight-wad, dat's why!"

"Pipe down! It's just a gag," reassured Jack.

"Yeah, right," Race whispered sarcastically to Skittery, who just nodded in reply.

"So why da jack-up, Weasel?" Jack asked.

"Nice day?" guessed Weasel, mockingly. "Why don't you ask Mistah Pulitzah?"

Jack gave up and went down, back to the group.

"They can't do this to me, Jack!" exclaimed Kid Blink.

"They can do whatevah dey want. Its deh stinkin' papah," Race replied.

"It ain't faih. We got no rights at all," replied Boots.

"It a rigged deck! Dey got all da mahbles," Race agreed.

"Jack, we got no choice...so, lets get ouah lousy papes while we still got some, huh?" Mush suggested.

"No! Nobody's goin' anywheh! Dey can't do dis to us!" exclaimed Jack.

_I sweah, dis kids lost his mahbles,_ Race thought to himself.

"We need money, Jack!" yelled Skittery.

"Yeah, we gotta eat, Jack!" Kid pointed out. The newsies all crowded around Jack, arguing with him about the papes and what they should do. Les came alongside Jack and admonished everyone, saying, "Give him some room, give him some room! Let him think!"

Everyone waited patiently for Jack to finish thinking, but for Race, it seemed like forever.

"Jack, ya done thinkin' yet?"

"Well, look, one thing's foah shoah. ..."

Well, we know what happened. However, let me tell you that at first Race was against the whole thing...but Jack's words finally got to him.

He even volunteered to go to Midtown to tell everyone about it. He went, because he knew that they'd be the hardest to convince, besides Brooklyn.

Walking there, he spotted an unpleasant face walking on the sidewalk across the street. He was buying a hot dog at a nearby meat stand. It was Mr. Jacobs.

_Should he go up to him?_

_Confront him? _

_Give him a warning?_

_Forget it. No, lets be sensible, shall we?_

Race walked along the sidewalk, making his way to midtown. He couldn't help but look back at Mr. Jacobs several times. He noticed that his hand was trembling and his thoughts in his head were getting mixed up. His right eye started to twitch, and people were starting to look at him. Mr. Jacobs noticed him as well. Race ran into an alleyway and leaned against the wall. He eventually dragged himself down to a sitting position and let his arms rest on his knees. His head was shaking, and his mind was focused on one thing. Convincing himself that this was all not real. He didn't just see his father's murderer and he didn't know his kids.

Saying it in his mind wasn't working, so he started saying it out loud.

"Not real...not real...not real...not real...not real...not real," still not working, he picked up the volume a bit."NOT REAL...NOT REAL...NOT REAL..."

Louder.

"NOT REAL...NOT REAL...NOT REAL..."

Race closed his eyes, covered them with his hands, and lowered his volume back down, and said it a little more quietly. Eventually he just stopped all together. Then, he felt strong hands on his wrists.

"Are you okay, son?" came a gruff voice. The breath smelling of meat...possibly ham...hot dog?

Race lowered his hands and lifted his head. There he saw, right in front of him, Mr. Jacobs. His eyes widened and he froze.

"Its alright, son. I won't hurt you," said the man. Race shook his head. He had to get out. He tore himself from the man's gentle grasp and ran. He ran as far as he could. When he looked back later, he saw that he hadn't been followed and was now alone.

When Race came back, from his trip to midtown, he spotted Skittery, Kid Blink, and Snipeshooter gathered together, playing marbles.

"How'd it go, Race?" asked Skittery.

"Eh," Race replied, giving them the "so-so" sign with his hands. "Not doing it without Brooklyn. If Brooklyn's in, so are they."

"Same here," replied Kid Blink. Skittery and Snipe nodded, showing that they had similar responses.

"Come Race. Come and join your humble friends in a game of marbles. Betting and other forms of gamble are allowed," said Skittery, in a mockery of the British accent.

"Jolly day, isn't it, chap?" said Race, joining in on his game.

"Jolly good, jolly good," Blink answered, also in a British accent. Snipes, in the meantime, in fits of giggles. It was so easy to make kids laugh. Anything is funny to them.

After a while, other newsies gathered and watched them play and set up games of their own, waiting for the arrival of Jack, David, and Boots.

When they did come, Race noticed that Spot wasn't with them. Jack explained that Spot didn't think they could pull it off. Without Spot, no one believed that they could pull this thing off...because without Spot, no one else would join.

"Well, we can't just give up...right?" asked David. "I mean, we could do this...we just have to convince everyone that we believe in what we're doing. We have to convince them that we're not just doing this for us, but for our families and for other working men and women. See, it will only _start_ with us. Other bosses and men of business are looking for ways to make more money, and if we don't do anything, they will take Pulitzer's example and do something similar to their employees. See, this is not just about us. Its about the rest of New York! We have to SEIZE THE DAY! We can't let them break us. No one can make us do what we don't want to do!"

"We'll slay the giant!" yelled Bumlets.

"Exactly! One for all and all for one, right?!" David shouted above the cheering of the excited newsies.

"Seize the day!" many of them chanted. Suddenly, the circulation bell started ringing.

"Anyone hear dat!" asked Jack, rhetorically.

"No!" everyone answered. Race, with all the emotion built up inside him, was ready to kick ass.

"So what ah we gonna do about it?" asked Jack.

"Soak 'em!" everyone answered.

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I hope you all liked this chapter.

Review me! Tell me if you did, or didn't like it. Feel free to make suggestions and tell me what you think Race should do, or what should happen next.

Okay, I never did this before, but I'm going to do some shoutouts...ready?

**Gamble7:**You're an awesome reviewer, you know that? ...and no, I cannot give you season 2. Sorry. You'll have to rob my house to get it.

**NewsieGoil1899: **I hope I updated fast enough! Thanks for the reviews...I thought the flashback in the last chapter was going to be long and boring, but I'm ecstatic that you liked it!

**Madmbutterfly713: **I hope these new chapters were more exciting for you. If not, I definitely want you to let me know...and feel free to make suggestions and what not. Thanks for the review!


	4. Days of Trouble

1Chapter 4:

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Sorry, I took so long. Compliments of my mom. She grounded me for a month. I didn't do anything that serious, though. I just have strict parents.

Well, hello again, and enjoy the story!

Some situations and diologue in this story is taken from the movie, _Newsies_.

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Racetrack and the other newsies tore away at the newspapers, throwing them around, trying to set an example. They were trying to tell others that they meant what they were doing. The boys were completely serious about this stand they were taking.

They new, though, that sooner or later, they would be stopped. Jack noticed the bulls and without a second of hesitation, let everyone else know, as well. Racetrack stayed behind to make sure everyone exited safely. He left after noticing everyone was gone.

_Except Crutchy._

Realizing this, he turned around and called to the laughing boy.

"CRUTCHY! SCRAM! SCRAM!"

The boy stopped laughing and tried to scramble to safety, but the bulls surrounded him and Oscar and Morris caught him. Race wanted to stay behind to help, but realized he couldn't or he would be caught, too. Race cursed himself inside as he ran back to meet with the rest of the boys. Why wasn't he brave enough to face the fat, lazy (yet mean and scary) bulls. Well, truth be told, he was definitely brave enough; he just couldn't risk it. Getting caught by the bulls wouldn't help anyone, including Crutchy.

Somehow, Race was able to relate his hesitation to save Crutchy with his fear to face his father's murderer.

All these things went through Racetrack's mind as he made his way back to the lodging house. He just couldn't do what his heart wanted him to do...but should he follow his heart or his head? Right now, he was following his fear...just like his fear told him not to help Crutchy. The poor kid was going to the refuge because of him.

When he caught back up with the rest of the group, it seemed most of them didn't know that Crutchy wasn't with them until they saw Race walking toward them...solo.

"Where's Crutchy?" asked Blink. Jack put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"They took him, didn't they?" said Jack. Race only nodded, worried for Crutchy's safety.

"Who took him where?" asked David. Race rolled his eyes.

"_The bulls_. They took him to the refuge," he explained, irritated. He, Blink, and Jack knew all too well what the refuge was like. It was cold, and there was just barely enough food to spare. Snyder didn't take the money given to him to keep up repairs and supply food, clothes, and blankets for the boys. He spent the majority of the money on himself. It was hard to survive the rough life of the refuge. It was littered with tough boys, mentally challenged boys, psychotic boys, wimpy boys, disabled boys, too-kind-to-be-true boys...all kinds of boys. The ones, like the wimps or the disabled, who couldn't fend for themselves, were taken down and trampled over by the stronger and the smarter. It was very much a wild life ecosystem in there. "We'll get 'im back tanight."

"No, Race. If Snyder even smells you, you're back in," Blink replied. Jack nodded.

"What did you guys_ do_?" asked David.

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"_Okay, heah's da plan," whispered Francis to Anthony and Ryan, who were hiding with him in the alley, "Ryan, staht an interestin' covoisation wit' da guy in the shop. Anthony and I will pick up some food that will hold us in foah a week."_

"_That's gonna be a lot a stuff," replied Anthony_._ "Enough food for the whole week? How we gonna keep that away from the coppahs?" _

"_It ain't that much. I'll grab me-self a loaf a' bread. You grab a block of cheese from the cheese stand, and some apples. Then, on our way out, Ryan, you try and pickpocket some guy's wallet. That way we can buy somethin' honestly next time. Is it a plan?"_

"_Sure. It's a plan," said Race. Ryan nodded in agreement. They ran into the market across the alleyway and around the corner. Ryan started a conversation with the guy at the deli stand about all the different kinds of meat, asking lots of stupid questions, like, "What is salami made out of?"_

"_An assortment of meat," the deli man would say. _

"_How 'bout ham?" asked Ryan, already knowing the answer. Anthony and Francis chuckled as they stuffed their pockets._

"_Pig."_

"_Is that so?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_What's turkey made out of?"_

_The other two boys had to bight their lips just to keep from grinning. Francis winked at Ryan when they were done, and he closed up his conversation with the deli man and they walked out calmly. As a "hoidy-toidy" kind of man walked in, Ryan simply bumped into the guy, fumbled around, and slipped his hand into the guys pocket and took the wallet. Then, they walked out just as calmly as any innocent kid. By the time they rounded the corner, the man ran out of the stores, and cops had apparently already been informed._

"_Run! Da bulls!" yelled Anthony. They went into a full speed sprint, but they were soon surrounded on all sides. _

"_Uh-oh," said Ryan. Anthony let out a nervous laugh, and Francis just kept his expression stern. _

"_Um, what'd we do, coppah?" Francis asked. Then, as if on cue, the man (now wallet-less) wove his way through the crowd of policemen._

"_Alright, kids, what did you do with it?" asked the man._

"_Umm...with what, mistah?" asked Anthony._

"_You know what," said the man. Without warning, nodded towards the kid, for the policemen to search them. Of course, the police found the cheese and a few apples in Anthony's pocket, and a loaf of Italian bread in inside Francis's ragged old coat. Before the cop got to Ryan, Anthony slipped the wallet from Ryan's pocket into his own. He found nothing on Ryan, so, he started all over again. He went to Francis and searched his pockets, finding nothing. He walked over to Anthony, asking him, this time, to take off his jacket and vest, as they went through every pocket. They found the wallet inside the vest pocket. The cop handed it to the man. The man grinned, slyly, and brandished the wallet in the air. _

"_You stole from the wrong man, kid," said the man. "The name's Snyder. James Snyder. You all are coming with me. You're going to jail."_

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

_The boys stood in court where they were read their rights. Anthony tried to lighten the mood by making faces, and making the judge especially angry. Snyder already didn't like him. He didn't like the Francis kid very much either. He kept on mocking him when the judge wasn't looking._

"_Alright, so, state your names," ordered the judge._

"_Anthony Keiran Higgins."_

"_Ryan Sullivan."_

"_Francis Sullivan."_

"_Sullivan? Sullivan...Peter Sullivan?" asked Snyder, stepping forward, from the corner of the room (where he had been standing). _

"_Yeah, dat's our faddah," replied Ryan. Snyder looked over to Anthony._

"_Didn't his father kill yours?"_

"_Dat's what dey all think," Anthony explained. After a moment of silence, he added, "But, no. No, he nevah killed me Pop. He tried to save him. But, then, that's what we tried to explain in court. Nobody listens to a scaied little kid wit' no money."_

"_Do you boys have any guardian?" asked the judge. The boys looked at each other, deciding not to tell them about their job and where they stayed._

"_Just you kind ol' bulls," said Francis. _

_After an hour and a half of trying to explain what happened, and making up stories to prove their innocence, they were sent to an All Boys' Reform School. The refuge. Not the best place to be. It wasn't a jail, but a place where they tried to 'reform' all the hoodlums of the streets. It might have well been called the Juvenile Jail for Boys, because that's how they were treated. They were sentenced to three months. The boys always stuck together, causing all kinds of trouble. _

_All kinds of trouble._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

_It had already been a month, and Anthony was already getting sick and tired of the conditions of the place. Plus, he wasn't about to spend his 14th birthday in the refuge. It was March, and Ryan already turned 14. Francis would be turning 15 in the next few days. It was a horrible thing...to be stuck in this place on your birthday. _

_Anthony was the biggest trouble maker in the refuge. He always got into fights and would talk back to Snyder every chance he got. Eventually eight months was _added_ to his three. He was starting his second month, and instead of having one more to go, he had ten. His original three, plus the additional eight...eleven months (there, I did the math for you). Anthony was going crazy. Francis was quite disruptive, as was his brother._ _They got an additional six months after messing with Snyder's food, talking back a few times, picking fights with the younger kids, etc. _

_No one knew, however, what Anthony did to deserve the additional eight months._ _He never even told Jack or Ryan. They asked, and pried, but he wouldn't give._ _Some say Anthony himself never knew. Others just make up stories. He tried to murder Snyder. He slept with Snyder's wife. Punched Snyder in the jaw. _

_Truth was, Race escaped, and stole a horse in the process. He was caught, but Snyder was at least nice enough to keep the stolen horse out of the records. Race didn't want to tell_ _Francis or Ryan, because he was afraid that they'd call him a traitor. He never told them about his plan, so, why wouldn't they be mad? So, he just kept it to himself._

_But why did Race get away with stealing a horse?...Well, he didn't exactly get away with it. He was put in a very small room outside as punishment. The room was more like a poorly built shack. It was cold out at night, still. Since it was only the beginning of April, it hadn't quite warmed up. This particular night was about 34 degrees F. There were no blankets, no food, nothing to keep him warm. He sat in the corner and almost shivered himself to death, if it wasn't for the guard just outside. He walked in, looked back out the door for a second, looked back at Anthony, and gave him his coat. Anthony stuttered out his thanks. The horse incident was an excuse for Snyder to give Anthony some real serious punishment, without having to deal with the law and feeling guilty about it. _

_When Anthony was finally allowed back inside the main building, he was wheezing and coughing. They had to call in the doctor and he was diagnosed with bronchitis. Bronchitis is a form of pneumonia, and that was not good news, so Anthony was taken away to the hospital until he was better. Because of his poor immune system, it took him longer than most to recover. When he came back, no one found out where he had been the night before he left to the hospital. No one knew he tried to escape, and almost succeeded for a whole twelve hours, and was put in a cold shack for the next thirteen hours._ _All anyone knew was that he was gone for most of the day, the following night, and came back at seven in the morning to work. They knew he wasn't feeling well that day, and he had a strange cough. They also knew he was sentenced to an additional eight months, for God only knows what. _

_That shut Anthony up for a little while, but within a month of his return, he was back to his old self. Back to making cruel jokes about Snyder behind his back. Back to making silly songs about the evil warden. Back to his former self. _

_He was also back to planning his escapes. _

_Snyder announced, one day, that Teddy Roosevelt was coming to the refuge, to supervise the daily activities. This was Anthony's chance t_o _plan a real escape. A successful. _

"_Listen, as he leaves, we pretend to be int'rested in him and ask him all kinds of questions about his job, and 'escort' him out. Den, as he leaves, we climb ovah the wall and jump on the back of his carriage..._

_...Den we can go see dat new Cohan show," explained Anthony._

"_Cohan?" Ryan asked. "George _**M.** _Cohan?"_

"_Yeah, he has a new show out. I think its called 'Da Wahmest Baby in da Bunch'," Francis explained to his brother. Before she died, Sophie would take them to see the Four Cohans when they were in town. (_For those who don't know, George M. Cohan wrote such things as _Over There_, _Yankee Doodle Dandy,_ _Harrigan_, etc.).

"_Oh, yeah! I wanna see dat!" exclaimed Ryan. _

"_Well, you will...**If**_ _that plan works out," Anthony stated, with a wink. _

_Well, the plan almost worked out completely. Almost exactly as the boys expected it to. Snyder actually let them walk him to the gate. They asked him questions, he answered, they made suggestions, he nodded in polite agreement. They realized Mr. Roosevelt was a respectable, kind man. _

_Then the guards closed the gate. The boys, then, asked if they could climb up the wall to wave goodbye. _

"_Just so long as you don't clime over it," the guard said. The boys nodded. Race cupped his hands to give Ryan the first lift up. They boy looked lighter than he actually was. Well, Race gave him a lift as far as he could. Since the wall was at least 15 feet high, he still had a ways to go before he hit the top, so he climbed the rest of the way. Anthony did the same for Francis, who wanted to go last, but Anthony insisted that he go next. Francis climbed up to the edge of the wall. Just to humor the guards, and warden Snyder, they smiled and waved to Roosevelt, who wasn't actually looking. Then, when the guards got tired of the boys waving, they turned their heads. _

"_Now!" Anthony whispered, a little louder than he ought. That was when the boys climbed completely over. Anthony scrambled after them, to the top, but just as he got there, a guard pulled at his leg. He put up a good fight, until the guard pulled him completely down._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

"_Okay Higgins. Your eleven months are up. Time to get out," announced a voice from the outside of the cell. He was unlocking the door. Anthony was right in front of it, ready to get out. He had been put in there because he became "dangerous" to the other occupants. That was only because he enjoyed a good brawl now and then. He was never actually dangerous. Two guards led him buy his arms, down the corridors, past the working kids, to the entrance, out the entrance, to the front gate, where he was met by Snyder. _

"_Keep out of trouble, Higgins," he said. "Your term has ended, but I'll still be watching you. I'm still on the look out for your friends, too. Oh, no. I haven't forgotten about them. Once I spot them, their coming back, you hear? You be careful now, boy. One wrong move and it's back to the Refuge."_

"_Whatevah," was Anthony's reply. He was let go at the front gate, where he ran to the world. The real world. He hitched a ride on the back of a carriage, and rode all the way to The Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, where he was greeted with the howling of all his friends. Everything was pretty much the same...except Jack kind of became leader, and Blink lost his eye. Other than that, everyone was exactly the same. Skittery, Dutchy, Mush, Crutchy, Snipeshooter...everyone was there. The newsies._

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

"We didn't do nothin'," said Race, to answer David's question.

"We gotta get him out," said David.

"That's exactly what we're gonna do. Jack and I," said Blink.

"No, I ain't lettin' you go there. You and I, Davey. We'll go," said Jack, turning to Race. "Besides, I have somethin' to talk to you about."

"Really?" asked Dave. "What?"

Race stared cold and hard at Jack, during this whole exchange. He wanted to go back to the refuge to get his friend. He wasn't in as much danger as Jack. Jack didn't finish his term. It would be safer for Race to go. Why did Jack have to go? Because he had to talk to his _new_ friend? The son of a killer?

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How was it? C'mon, tell me!


	5. Racing Race

1Chapter 5:

I loved the reviews! Thank you so much!

**Gamble**...you make me so happy when you review! I love it! I have to catch up on some of your stories...

**Newsiegoil**—you are so great! I always love getting your reviews. They make me feel good about what I'm writing. Thank you much!

K...on with the story!

Some dialogue may be taken from the movie, _Newsies_

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But Race did go with Jack and David that night. They didn't realize it at first, but he did. When Jack and David stopped at the all-too-familiar gates, Race was a few yards behind. It was hard to understand, why Jack was warming up to this kid.

_Its not his fault his dad's a moiderah._

That's what Jack said the night before.

_Da kid pro'lly doesn't even know._

Even if that was true...why? He was the one who watched Race's father die.

Race watched as Jack and David entered through the gates and snuck onto the roof. It wasn't until an hour and fifteen minutes later that they came back down from meeting with Crutchy at the window. By then, Race discreetly made his way up. He climbed up to the window, he saw Jack hang from. He had no support from a rope, so if he fell, he would fall to his death. When he reached the window, he knocked loudly. One of the older boys answered.

"Tony!"

"Nicely Mo! How you been? Listen, don't worry 'bout answerin', I'll visit again tomorrah. I need to see Crutchy, real fast," said Race, holding on to the bars of the window. He was slowly losing his grip and Nicely Mo could see that.

"He's not here. He is talking with warden Snyder in the next room. The kid just saved your friend Jack back there. Listen, kid, get down from there. You're gonna kill yourself," ordered the worried friend.

"Alright, Mo, but tell Crutchy I was here, and give him this. It kept me occupied during _my_ stay here," explained Race, holding on desperately to the bars with one hand, and pulling something out of his pocket with the other. It was a key.

"He won't take it Race. He wouldn't take it. He can't take it. It won't open the doors here. Even if it could, he couldn't take the risk."

"Nicely, I can trust you, right?"

"Sure."

"Den jus' give it to him!" he ordered, shoving the key in his. "It was my mothers. She called it 'the freedom key'. It'll help him stay human...at least for a while."

"You can trust me, Race."

"I know," said Race, before lowering himself down. It would have been almost impossible to do, if not for the semi loose bricks that he occasionally bumped into. He knew exactly where they were without looking. He had memorized this wall while he was here. Once he was safe on the ground, he snuck back outside, just as he had snuck inside...over the wall. The last time he did this, he was caught. This time, he wasn't.

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Race stopped at the front steps of the lodging house and realized that he had no penny to spare for the night's lodging. He sighed and sat down on the front stoop, waiting for a victim. It wasn't long before he found a rich looking guy walking along the streets...no not a guy, a boy. It was a boy around his age, maybe slightly taller, though. He walked across the street, pretending not to see the boy, and bumped into him. The wallet fell out, and Race, with quick fingers, slipped out a five-dollar bill, snuck it into the sleeve of his jacket, and handed the wallet back. The boy smiled in thanks, not suspecting a thing. It kind of made Race feel bad, but the feeling went away when he slipped the bill out of his sleeve and looked at it.

Race knocked, and Kloppman answered. He frowned at Race's tired appearance.

"Got change for a five dollar bill, Klopp?" asked Race, with a huge grin. He showed Kloppman the money.

"Where'd you get all this?"

"Won it," Race lied, easily.

"Its about time! Okay, I'll give you four singles, and a hundred pennies that you can put in your spare cap, so you can pay every night. Sound good, kid?" asked Kloppman.

"Sounds good," said Race, handing the money over. He had pickpocketed so many times, and lied about it, the lying came second nature. He used to feel guilty when he lied, but now, he didn't think of it.

Kloppman handed him the change, and kept a penny for himself, for Race's rent. Race smiled politely and went upstairs, putting the money in a safe place...under his mattress.

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As the sun arose, the boys prepared for a new day. The newsboys went outside to make another stand, preparing to fight anyone who'd dare to stop them.

Race looked around at the lot they were planning on staying. They stood in the middle of the road and took their signs and chanted.

"Open the gates and seize the day,

Don't be afraid and don't delay,

Nothing can break us

No one can make us

Give our rights away

Arise and seize the day!"

After their chant, they all lined up in military-like rows and locked arms, to block anyone coming from the gate. When a carriage did come, it wouldn't dare stop. The boys were forced to break up their form, and scatter away. Race was the first one to the gate to greet the "loyalists of Pulitzer". When the scabs parted, mobsters were revealed with bats, clubs, and chains.

"Jack! Jack! It's a trick!"

They were surrounded. Jack was having enough trouble trying to fight off Morris and Oscar. The action came only after Spot came with his boys. They ended up winning the fight and got their picture in the newspaper.

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Later that day, Race walked along the streets alone. He just wanted to be by himself for a while. He walked along Broadway, where Irving Hall was. He walked passed Irving Hall and the rest of the theatres and past many of the rich people going to see them. Many people stared at the boy who seemed a little out of place, in his ragged, dirty linen shirt and worn shoes. His grey hat had messed up weavings from age. Yes, he was quite a sight...

...But there was one man that couldn't help staring at him. Race was across the street staring back. It was Mr. Jacobs. They held each other's gaze for a long time. Race walked across the street, seemingly calm, but his gut was filled with fear. He walked a little past the still man, as though he hadn't noticed him, and then, turned back, as if forgetting something, to whisper in his ear.

"I never forgot your face, Jacobs. Your son, he's a swell kid. How'd he end up with a father like you?"

After whispering this, Race continued on his walk, disappearing into the crowd.

Mr. Jacobs stood, bewildered. If he was who he thought he was...which he had to be, then Jack was who he thought he was...the son of the man whose friend he killed.

_Does Jack know who I am_? Jacobs wondered

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It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, two hours after Race's encounter with Mr. Jacobs. He walked back to the lodging house and sat on the steps. He had pebbles in his hand, which he had picked up, one by one, on his way home. He placed his hat on the ground and made a game of throwing pebbles into his hat. He grinned, in thought.

Snyder wasn't looking for him or Blink, because Blink had been caught again, only a year ago to finish up his sentence. He was looking for Jack, though. It was not long after he caught Blink, that he discovered Jack's alias. There are many secrets in Snyder's world and this was one of them. Blink couldn't have squealed...he wouldn't do that to his brother. No one knew how Snyder found out. However, that wasn't important. What was important was that Snyder knew, and that Jack had to change his alias. See, he was no longer Francis Sullivan, but he wasn't always Jack Kelly. He had also once been Jesse James, being named after the famous outlaw. Race thought it was funny, but he was quick to find him another name when Snyder had discovered "Jesse James".

Now, Snyder also new who Jack Kelly was, too. However, he didn't know where he was. Snyder suspected he wouldn't go back to the newspaper business, because that would be the first, and most obvious place to look. As _Jesse James_, Jack had been a shoe shiner. When he was found out, Race helped him change his name, and told him something he would never forget, "the best place to hide is the most obvious place to look". Some people either weren't smart enough to know this themselves, or already knew and claimed the best hiding spots.

Spot wasn't one of those. He actually didn't have to hide to go unnoticed. His presence was always sensed, because of his personality, but rarely seen (unless he wanted to be seen). He was sneaky that way. People admired that and often wished they could do the same. Spot also seemed cold, but he was actually the best friend you could have, if he liked you enough.

It was Spot who walked up to Race at this very moment.

"I t'ought you was goin' to da tracks. What happened?"

"Change a plans, Spot."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Race?"

"Yeah?"

"You goin' to Tibby's tomorrah?"

"Why?"

"I don't know if we should trust this Denton-guy," frowned Spot. Race whiped his itchy nose before replying (almost in disinterest),

"And why is that?"

"I don't know...I just got dis feelin' is all."

"You and your feelings," scowled Race, with an exasperated sigh. "Maybe its David we shouldn't trust."

"Dave? What have you got against dat kid?"

"Don't know," Race lied. "He just has a bad arah about him."

"Do you mean aura?"

"Whatever."

"Yeah, well, if he does, I haven't noticed it...and I'm just as good at those kind of things as you ah. Say, this is off-topic, but...why is Jack da leadah of dis place? You are just as tough as me...if not, _toughah_. You could lead this whole _state_ if you wanted to," Spot wondered.

"Jack was appointed da leadah aftah our last one left. Granted, I was going to be the leadah, but I was demoted for bad behaviah," Race explained with a chuckle. Spot smiled and shook his head.

"Dat's just like you, Race. Always causin' trouble! (chuckles) Listen, I gotta go, but I'll see ya 'round, right?" said Spot, rising up from where he was sitting.

"Sure, 'course. I'll se ya soon," answered Race, rising up as well. Spot was standing on the ground, and Race stood on the second step up from the ground. The boys simultaneously spit on their own hands and shook. Then Spot turned and ran down the street.

"Don't hoit yourself while I'se gone, awright Race?" yelled Spot from a few yards away.

"Speak foah yourself, you accident-prone-dummy!" yelled Race from the steps he still stood at.

It wasn't until Spot was no longer visible, that he finally sat down. He decided that he was going to finally have a moment of peace...

_I wondah if Jacobs knew who I was...wait a minute! I don't need this! De moah peace I get, da more unsatisfying thoughts I have._

Race got up from the steps and walked down the street. There was a women selling freshly baked warm muffins down the street. They were twenty-five cents. He didn't have change for the dollar he had in his pocket, so he gave her the whole dollar and she gave him 75 cents in change. He took a bite from the corn muffin that he bought, and moaned in pleasure. This was the first time in months that he had an actual corn muffin. He ate this muffin as he walked further down the street.

Not paying attention to where he was going, Race bumped into someone. Race, still not looking up, mumbled his apologies, and walked by.

"Hey Higgins! Ain't you gonna say your sorry?" said the voice. Race turned around, only to see Morris Delancy...the big oaf himself.

"Foah your infahmation, I did. You were just too deaf to heah me is all. Besides, if I knew it was you, I wouldn't have said sorry at all," Race retorted.

"Wanna say that when your close enough for me to kill you, Higgins," Morris sneered. Not responding with one word, Race walked, nonchalantly, over to Morris.

"I wouldn't apologize to no bastard like you, if someone gave me thirty bucks," Race responded with a smile. Knowing what was coming, he ducked when Morris tried to punch him in the face. Race caught him off-balance and swung him one right in the abdomen. He ducked in pain, and Race ran for it.

"See ya in Hell, Delancy!" Race yelled when he was down the street. Race continued running until he crashed right through David and Les, knocking poor Les down.

"Sorry, kid," said Race, helping Les up.

_The kid's a cool kid. Kinda cute_, thought Race. _And innocent. He doesn't know of the evils of dis world...or that his own faddah killed my pop._

"Its alright, Race," said Les, cheerfully. Race was forced to smile. This kid's grin was contagious.

"Hey Racetrack," greeted David.

"Hey," said Race, almost grimly. David noticed this, but ignored it.

"How come we never see you around?" asked David.

"How come? Uh..." _Just been avoidin' you is all_. "I don't know. I'se at the races a lot lately."

"You have money to spend there?" asked Les, knowing all too well about the sacrifices they all made for this strike. Money was a big issue.

"Nah. I did win some recently, though. Now, I'm just going to watch the race," Racetrack lied.

"Who were you running from?" asked David.

"Does it mattah?" asked Race with an attitude. He decided to change the subject. "Wheah's your new friend?"

"Who?"

"Jack."

"Oh," said David. "Around."

Race nodded. An awkward silence followed. Race smacked his lips in a bored manner.

"Well, I gotta go find him...so...bye."

"Bye, Racetrack," said Les to the boy who had already started running.

"Weird kid," mumbled David.

"Not as weird as you," said Les, giving him a light punch in the arm.

Race was still a little angry at Jack, so, that whole thing about not knowing where he was and needing to talk to him, was an act. An act to get away from _them_. He hitched a ride in the back of a carriage to Sheepshead Races. There was no race going on now, he knew, but he figured he'd hang around the track for a while, and watch the jockeys exercise their horses.

When the carriage to the wrong turn, he jumped off the back, and hitched a ride on the back of another one. He jumped three more carriages on the way to the track. When he finally got there, he sat on the bleachers and gazed onto the track. There was only one jockey exercising his horse at the moment, but it was still fun for Race to watch. After Race had been there for fifteen minutes, someone plopped down next to him.

"You know, this is about the only time you can get good seats without getting into a fight, and you_ choose _to sit at the very top," came the voice. Racetrack smiled, recognizing the friendly tone.

"Hey, Blink," he replied, taking a short glance at his friend, and then looking back at the track.

"Somethin' botherin' you, Race?" Blink asked. Race thought for a moment, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes in thought. He was deciding whether or not to tell Blink.

"Why is it that Jack has taken a liking to David? He saw what his faddah did to my faddah...why would he take him undah his big fat wing?"

"Maybe he feels bad for 'im."

"Maybe Davey's already got a faddah, so maybe Jack shouldn't need to worry about him and his little brother."

"So your sayin' he don't need no sympathy?"

"No! No, Kid, I don't think he does."

"Listen, Race, all Jack told me when I asked him was, 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closah'. See, the way I see it is that Jack can't kill him or nothin' so, he's gotta live wit' him...whethah he likes it oah not. So, by _pretending_ to be his friend, he can see if dis Davey here is really as reliable as he seems to be. If he isn't a bad joe, he stays. If he is, we already know him enough to know if he'll toin and we won't have any guilty feelin's when we soak him," explained Blink.

"He's _pretendin'_?"

"He nevah said dat, but he's my broddah. I think I know his train of thought."

"That makes me feel a bit bettah..."

"Anyway, the closah he is to Dave, the closah he is to his faddah...the closah he is to gettin' you da information you need. That's another way to look at it," Blink added. Race smiled in gratitude, and looked out over the track. Blink followed his gaze, and watched the horse that he assumed Race was looking at. It was a pure white thoroughbred, with a tan colored mane. It was the whitest horse he had ever seen. There was no specks of grey or light brown or cream on it. It was pure white, like snow. Race, knowing Blink was staring at the great-beauty, replied, "Her name's Crystal Star. Her coat is as shiny as one. She deserves that name. It's a great name, huh?"

"Sure it is, Race," replied Blink. He looked from the horse to Racetrack. "Do you want to do this when you get oldah?"

"I don't know what I want. I nevah been on a horse befoah. I would like to, though."

"Maybe you will," said Blink, with a mischevious look in his eye. Race looked at him, confused, but catching the look Blink had, he shook his head.

"Whatevah you got in dat puny brain of yours, just fahget it," Race said. Without a word, Blink ran down to the wooden fence, dividing the bleachers from the track. The fence looked like one you would find on a ranch. It only stood four feet tall. Blink stood behind this gate and yelled to the jockey,

"Hey you! Can you come ovah heah, please?"

The jockey nodded, then jogged over, pulling the horse by the reigns, who trotted behind him. When the jockey came into view, Blink and Race saw that he was just as young as them.

"My names Blink, and this here's Racetrack. What's yours?"

"Jerry. Jerry Alexander," the boy said.

"Nice to meet ya. When did you start jockeying?" asked Blink with curiosity.

"I started riding when I was seven and started racing when I was fifteen. I'm seventeen years old, now. I hate to boast, but I'm one of the best out there right now. I've won all the races this season,"

"Gee, it's a wonder Race never bet on you."

"You boys come here often?"

"Race does. I don't come that often," Blink explained with a smile.

"Your friend's not very talkative," Jerry commented,

"Why sure he is...ain't you Race!"

"Sure...sure, I can be talkative. You gotta excuse my friend. He's a little...well, you know," said Race, using his index finger to make a circling motion at the side of his head.

"Shut up, Race. I ain't crazy. Anyway, I wanted to know if my friend here could ride your horse?"

"Sure. You know how to ride, Racetrack?" asked Jerry.

"No," Race said, sheepishly. Jerry motioned for him to climb over the gate. Race did so, while Blink stayed on the other side. Jerry led the horse infield a little more, so the horse would have more room. Then, Jerry handed him the reigns.

"Pet him, first. He needs to get to know you so he doesn't get scared," explained Jerry. Race nodded and pet the horse's nose.

"A real horse..."whispered Race.

"Talk to her," ordered Jerry, encouragingly. Race nodded.

"Okay...um...what do I say?"

"Anything."

"Tell her about the girl you were with last week, Race!" shouted Blink, from the fence.

"Don't do that. You'll get her jealous!" laughed Jerry. Race grinned.

"You t'ink she likes me?"

"Yeah. Would you like to ride?" asked Jerry. Race was nervous, but he nodded. This was both an exciting and terrifying experience, all at the same time. Jerry helped him get his first foot in the stirrup. Race, then, swung himself over, on top of the saddle. He took the reigns tightly.

"Loosen up on your grip, a little. That's it. You don't want to hold it too high, because it will be uncomfortable for her. Don't hold it too low, though. That will give ol' Crystal, here, leeway to eat the grass, or whatever else she can find here," explained Jerry. Blink laughed from the fence on how nervous Race looked. "Are you ready to walk?"

Race only nodded, swallowing hard.

"Okay, kick him lightly...and remember, don't hold the rein's too high. Point your feet up. There you go. You're a natural," said Jerry, who was beside Race the whole time. He held the grip at the horse's cheek, just to lead the way. "If you come tomorrow, I might let you trot. Just come at around two."

"Okay," said Race.

"You like it?" asked Jerry.

"Yeah...yeah, I like it a lot," replied Race. He chuckled, not nervous anymore, and pet the horse's neck.

"Listen, I have to give Crystal her dinner, so you'll have to get down, but I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Race, climbing off the horse.

"It was nice meeting you, Race," said Jerry. Then, he looked across the field and yelled, "NICE MEETING YOU, BLINK!"

"YOU TOO, JERRY!" Blink yelled back. Jerry laughed and turned back toward Race, took the reigns, and said, "See you tomorrow, friend."

"See ya...friend, "said Race. He ran across the field and hopped over the gate. He turned around to wave once more before leaving, and Jerry waved back as jumped onto Crystal and rode her back to the ranch where the stables were.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race couldn't stop talking about Crystal the rest of the evening. He told everyone he knew about his short ride. He even walked to the center of the road, when they got to the house, and yelled, "I rode a race-horse!"

A nasty old hag, hanging her laundry, shouted back, "So what!"

Race just smiled and walked to the front steps, telling the rest of his friends about his short-lived adventure, and what he was going to do tomorrow.

"That sounds great, Race!" exclaimed Bumlets, happy for his friend.

"Did he really say you were a natural?" asked Boots.

"He sure did! _Race was_ a natural! He looked like a real Jockey on dat horse, " Blink replied, boasting in Race's place. Race grinned bashfully, but didn't blush. He never blushed, but he grinned and replied,

"What he meant was, I was good for a beginnah."

"But dat's not what he said, dough, did he Race?" asked Blink.

"No, but–"

"Hey, Race, if you become a jockey, can I be your manager?" came a voice from the back of the crowd, who was edging in closer.

"That was already assigned to Blink, but you can be my personal trainer," Race joked.

"Sounds good to me," said Dutchy, with a grin. He slapped his friend on the back.

"Ladies and gentleman, its Jerry Alexander as number 44 with Crystal Star, Barry Johnson as number 32 with Nightmare Joe, Anthony Higgins as number 67 with Brown Fudge—"

"Brown Fudge?" asked Race.

"Yeah, Brown Fudge. Got a problem wit' it?" asked Blink, who was telling the story. "Sam Daniels as number 95 with Fat Rose, and Tim Collins as number thirteen with Lucky Friday. If that's not ironic, ladies and gentleman, I don't know what is. Anyway–"

Skittery makes the sound of a gun shot.

"There she blows," yelled Blink," aaaand they're off! Crystal is in first, as usual, with Lucky Friday right behind. Brown Fudge is the caboose of the bunch, kids. And they're running. ...

...they keep running...

...They're still running—"

"Blink!" scorned Snipeshooter.

"Oh, wait! Here we go, fellahs! Brown Fudge is pickin' up speed. He is nose to butt with Lucky Friday, who is neck 'n' neck with Crystal. Brown Fudge is still speedin' up. Oh! He's past Lucky Friday. Number thirteen ain't so lucky aftah all! Crystal and Brown fudge ah nose to nose. And dey cross the finish line. Looks like a tie, folks, but we're going to have to get a photo finish just to make sure!"

The boys all laughed at Blink's little comedic dramatization.

"Oh, here it is, folks...wait a minute...looks like Anthony Higgins cheated, ladies and gentleman. Yep, he sure did. He put an extended nose on the horse to make the snout look bigger. Anthony Higgins, you lose. The medal goes to Crystal Star! Congratulations to Jerry Alexander, once again!"

They boys laughed even harder.

"Extended nose! That's great!" Boots laughed.

"That's a little far-fetched, ain't it?" Race commented on Blink's ridiculous story.

"Sounds just like Race, too. Always cheatin'!" exclaimed Skittery. The comment earned him a playful slap behind his head.

"Aw, shut up!"

Suddenly, Jack came running up to the boys and interrupted the fun.

"Race...Race, I'm glad your heah. I need to tell you somethin'," said Jack, quite out of breath.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Hope ya'll like cliffhangers!

Please review!

Thank you again for the past ones!


	6. Learning to Forgive

**Chapter 6:**

Thanks for the reviews guys! I appreciate them (you know that)!

**NewsieGoil**: Thanks for your compliments. They're truly flattering! Honestly, you are just _too_ nice. If there's ever anything you _don't_ like about the story, just tell me. I won't get offended, I promise!

**Truemizzie: **Thank you, I'm happy you like the story! Yes, the grammar in the _dialogue _is strange, I agree. However, most of the grammar mistakes are only in the dialogue (sometimes), and that's because I want to capture the essence of their New York accents.

**Gamble7:** You didn't review the last one! READ, my friend!

** Some scenes were taken from the movie, _Newsies,_ for this story.**

PS: Max Casella fans...go to see trailers, clips, and pictures from his new movie! He's got the lead role with Anthony Rapp (who played Mark from RENT)! Check it out, and thank me later!

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race followed Jack into the alleyway, behind the lodging house. Then, he turned to Race. Race looked up at him, with an irritated expression.

"You gotta tell Dave, Race."

"Why?"

"He ain't like his faddah used to be. His _faddah_ ain't even da same," Jack explained. Race scowled.

"How would you know?"

"I been inside their house. He's a nice, homely man. He ain't da same. I don't think he even recognized me."

"Listen, I have know idea why you t'ink dat, but it ain't true. A killah is always a killah," Race growled, then walked past Jack, briskly. He was heading down the street in the opposite direction of the lodging house.

"You need to loin ta fahgive, Race! It ain't gonna get bettah when you just ignore it! Race come back here! We ain't done yet!" Jack yelled. Race was halfway down the block by this time, for his brisk strides easily turned into a sprint, down the street, but he stopped when he heard this small piece from Jack.

"IT IS FOR ME, JACK! I AIN'T GONNA EVAH BE FRIENDS WIT' NOBODY WHO KILLED MY DAD! I AIN'T GONNA BE FRIENDS WIT' DAT SON OF A GUN, YOU HEAH?!" Race yelled back, then turned to run. He ran until he got to _the_ apartment. The home of the Jacobs. He stared at the window, high above, watching as Mrs. Jacobs kissed Mr. Jacobs goodnight. The lights turned out leaving Race in the dark in the streets.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The newsboys all met at _Tibby's_ for lunch, the next day. Denton brought in the paper and Skittery complained about lack of fame and popularity, while Racetrack bragged about being the _King of New York_. He jumped on the tables and did his little victory dance, which made everyone laugh, and screamed out how proud he was. He didn't need to scream, though. Everyone could see the pride in his face.

After a half an hour of celebration, Jack devised a plan. He told them that they should have a mass meeting to make the strike official and to let the city know that they meant what they were doing. They were to meet at Irving Hall in three days. They were to dress up, "Sharp, like gentlemen" as Spot had ordered.

After all the celebrating, little by little, the newsies left to hang out. Blink and Race left before Jack, David, Skittery, and Dutchy did (those were the last to leave). They went straight to the tracks and met with Jerry. This calmed Race quite a bit. He had been a bit overexcited. He was not yet allowed to ride by himself yet, since it was only his second day with the horse, but he liked riding, nonetheless. He had a lot on his mind.

How could Jack suggest that he learn to forgive? How can he forgive a man for killing his father? How can he even be friends with David?

Well, he wouldn't do it! No sir!

After riding, Jerry took them out to eat, and they played poker. They gambled on candy and extra change. Race ended up winning three pieces of licorice from Blink, two pieces of chewing gum and three chocolate cigars from Jerry, and got to keep his own cinnamon sticks. At the end of the day, they said their goodbyes and walked home. In three days all three boys were about to have a big day. Jerry had a big race to win and Race and Blink had a strike meeting to hold at Irving Hall. They invited Jerry, but he politely declined. He may have had the freedom to do whatever he pleased, but he still had chores to do (cleaning the stable, brushing down the horse, and taking care of all the racing gear).

When Blink and Race got home, there was someone at the door waiting for them...well one of them.

"Race, we need to talk," came the voice. It was David. Blink patted Race on the shoulder, a silent way of saying "goodnight" and brushed passed David. When they were alone, David and Race walked down the steps together and took a walk on the streets. They walked a whole block before David opened his mouth.

"What is it?"

"Listen, kid," Race said, turning to face David, "I ain't gotta be friends wit' you. I don't know why you even care about bein' friends with me...so, lets just leave it at that."

"No."

"Why?"

There was a few moments of silence before David decided to speak again. This time he was more quiet and he spoke to the ground, rather than to Race.

"You know, Jack is in love with my sister...did you know that?"

Race shot his eyes back toward the lodging.house which looked more like a doll house at the distance they were at. His eyes shot back toward David and he growled, "OH he is, is he?"

Race, then, ran back to the lodging house and up the creaky old stairs. He flung open the door and scanned the room for a goofy tall boy in a cowboy hat. When he spotted him, he was in the middle of a card game with Dutchy and Skittery. He marched over to Jack and grabbled the collar of his shirt.

"Hey what do you think ya— wait, Race?"

Race swung at the now-standing-Jack, and forced Jack to stumble a little.

"So, I heah you're_ in love_ wit' the little witch huh?" Race roared. Everyone stared at the two of them.

"Jack, what's he talking about?" asked a worried Blink.

"What's her name, Jack?" Race asked, menacingly, taking a step toward Jack.

"Now, Race, let me expla–"

"You traitah!" Race breathed. He wound up and swung his fist into Jacks stomach. The boys were too stunned to say or do anything to stop Race. Jack hunched over in surprised pain. Race lifted his face up with both of his hands, then brought his face so that it was only inches from his own. Race stared into the eyes of the boy who had once been his friend. He stared for two minutes before bringing his mouth to Jack's ear and whispered, angrily, "You're in love wit' his daughtah? Is it true, Jack? Tell me it's not!"

Then he yelled so everyone could hear, and so that it made Jack's ear ring, "Is it TRUE, JACK?"

Jack scrambled out of Race's grasp and looked into pain-filled eyes. He realized, then, that he betrayed hi_s friend _with the most uncontrollable feeling he ever experienced. Love. He loved someone Race **_hated_**! So, Jack did the only thing, he could do. He looked into Race's eyes and said, "Yes."

"Sorry, _Frankie,_ I couldn't heah you," Race yelled, using Jacks old nick-name (short for Francis).

"YES! I LOVE HER! I love her! Guess, what Race...I'm not sorry, eithah!"

"Oh, you're not?"

"No!"

"Well, we'll see about that!" yelled Race. "We're taking this outside. Blink, make sure no one follows. I don't want no one to witness a murder."

Blink, now being as angry at Jack as Race was, nodded and closed the door behind the two, after they left the room.

Once outside, the two walked into a dark alley.

"Race, David doesn't know, but Sarah does."

Race shook his head, not really interested. He put up his fists, ready to box around before getting real dirty.

"That's nice," Race said. Then, he took the first swing at Jack, which he dodged.

"She said, dat Mr. Jacobs was messed up at da time. His boss made him do crazy things and his boss threatened his family if he didn't kill your pop. He had no choice," explained, Jack. Race took another swing, which Jack caught.

"I suppose he told her dat—LET GO OF ME HAND!"

"No! You'se gotta listen! He got involved in a gang. The leader worked with your father. Mr. Jacobs was desperate. He had no other alternative. His family was starving. He only drove from location to location at first, but then...then the boss...I don't know what his name was, he had dis bug against your faddah. He told Mr. Jacobs to kill him. Mr. Jacobs flat out refused, but they threatened his wife and children. What would you do if someone threatened one of us? You'd go along with it, right?" asked Jack, testing his friend. Race thought about it for a minute, lowered his fists, then furrowed his brow.

"How much did he get paid?"

"What?"

"He must have gotten paid, right?"

"Race, it wasn't his fault!"

"He killed me Pop!"

"I know! I saw...I saw it Race! I suffered from this, too! My Pop's in the state pen because of him. Because he _lied. _The only problem is that his old boss is still out there and he's afraid to testify because of him."

Race became silent, realizing his mistake. Jack's old man is in the state pen because of the father of the girl he loves. Boy, was Jack a mess. All the more, Jack forgives this guy.

"So, I guess the real guy to blame is this mob boss guy."

"Yeah."

"I can forgive you for falling in love with this Jacobs girl, and I can sympathize with Mr. Jacobs, but I can't _forgive_ him. No mattah what his situation. I don't know how you could, but I can't. He killed the only family I had left. You're pop may be charged with man-slaughter, but at least he's still alive. I mean, there's still a chance to bring your Pop back, if Mr. Jacobs ever testifies. He can't bring mine back."

"I see," Jack said, sheepishly.

"Yeah..."

"Sorry, Race."

"You can't control love, Jack."

"I know."

"Invite her to da rally at Irving. Good?" said Race.

"Sure," said Jack, hugging his friend. Race pushed away. He wasn't a hugger. Jack normally wasn't one, either.

"Don't botha," Race said as he brushed himself (as if the hug left some "residue").

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

_**Three Days Later**_

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Newsies from "all ovah" pushed and shoved to get inside. Race even spotted his new friend Jerry there. _Guess he got out of doin' chores_. He was glad to see he had come to support their cause. Race was the first to get to the front of the stage. Blink tried to get him to come onto the balcony with him, but (being he was afraid of heights) he declined. He could sit there, but he couldn't watch Blink swing from the railing. It made him sick. Instead, he decided to go with Specs and Skittery, down to the stage, to watch Jack, Spot, and David make their speeches and say what they had to say. Once Jack entered the stage from the curtains people went wild. Race had no idea that Jack was so popular. Half of it was probably for Spot.

"Carryin' da banna!" Jack shouted.

"Yeah! Whoo-hooo! Hurrah!" the crowd shouted. Race had his share of shouts, too. "Go tell 'em, Jack!"

"So...we've come a long way (pausing to let the crowd cheer)...but we ain't there yet and maybe it's only gonna get tougha from now on. But that's fine, 'cause we'll just get tougha wit' it. (crowd cheers vociferously). BUT ALSO," Jack shouted above the crowd, "also, we gotta get smart and listen to my pal David, who says 'stop soakin' da scabs'!"

Race waited for this moment to say a smart remark to/about Dave.

"What ah we supposed to do wit' da bums? Kiss 'em?" Race shouted, earning him a look from Dave and a bunch of back-up from friends and fellow newsies. Spot, agreeing, spat,

"Any scab I see I soak 'im..._period_."

People backed Spot's statement with applaud and shouts of agreement.

"No, no, that's what they want us to do. If we get violent, its just playing into their hands," Dave shouted. This wasn't something some of the newsies wanted to hear. They wanted a riot. They were looking for trouble. Others, not knowing what else to do, agreed with David. Some even strongly agreed with David's statement. Either way, there was a lot of noise.

"Hey, look, they'll be playing with my hands, awright? 'Cause it ain't what they say, its what we say, and nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em," Spot argued. People nodded and cheered at this "smart" statement. Others argued. They sided with David and said that this was no way to go.

"You got no brains. See, that's just what the big shots wanna see! That we're street rats, street trash with no brains...no respect for nothin' including ourselves! So here's how its gonna be: if we don't act togeddah, we're nothin'. If we don't _stick_ togeddah, we're nothin.! And if we can't even trust each oddah, then we're nothin! "

"Yeah!" Race shouted

"Tell 'em, Jack!" Kid Blink shouted from above.

"So what's it gonna be?" He said it to the audience, but he meant it for his true friends. He looked Race in the eye, and Race knew it had a double meaning. Race took one quick look at Blink, who nodded.

"We're wit' you, Jack," Race decided. Jack nodded and smiled slightly. Now, for Spot, it held a different meaning.

"So, what do you say, Spot?"

"I say, that what you say...

...is what I say," Spot stated, spitting in his hand, then shaking it with Jack. The newsies cheered at their settlement. Then, the curtains opened and Medda came out, singing the all-too-well-known: _High Times._ Many of the boys, Race, Blink, and Jack included, got to dance with her. They were having the time of their lives, but it was short lived.

Race was giving air kisses to his "fans" when he noticed that David and Jack started to run. Race, knowing that Medda would be in big trouble for allowing a meeting like this in her theatre, ushered her down the back stairs. He pushed and shoved her protesting body, until she was safe in the arms of the butler and the maid. He turned to see if anybody was following, when a police officer caught him off guard and kneed him in the stomach, then punched him in the face. He felt a burning feeling in his stomach where he had been kneed. Race began to fade into black after hitting his head against the banister. Medda yelled for the mercy of the young child.

"Noooo! No! For God's sake, he's just a child! Can't you see that! Why can't you pick on someone your own size! RACETRACK!"

As Racetrack was dragged off, he blacked out, hearing Medda yell out his name. The bulls dragged him up to the front door where one of them was punched by Skittery. The other one tried to run after him, but Skittery disappeared into the crowd, but not before yelling, "I tried, Race!" The cop rejoined his partner and continued to drag the boy outside, to a buggy. Before being loaded in, he began to stir. One of the cops punched him again, to knock him out. The other kneed him, just for good measure.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race sat in his cell, rubbing his sore stomach. _Boy, 'dis is gonna hurt tomorrah, _he thought. It wasn't long before Blink stumbled into the cell with Spot.

"Nice a' you guys to drop in on dis fine evenin'," Race joked. Blink gave a little chuckle, rubbing his black eye. Spot just smirked. He paced the small cell and surveyed the room.

"I think someone snitched, what do you guys think?" Race blurted. Spot nodded.

"Yeah, me too."

"Yeah, but who?" asked Blink

"Who knows, but whoever done it is not gonna live to see the mornin'," Race threatened, pounding his fist into his hand.

"I'll give 'em da mahk of da squealah me-self," said Spot. The mark of the squealer, everyone knew, was something a gang does to someone if they squeal on another gang member. They would take a knife and slit the squealer's left cheek.

"Yeah, but we ain't a gang," Blink said.

"Sure we ah," said Race. "Kinda."

"Yeah? How?" asked Blink, curiously. Before Race was able to answer that with a wisecrack, Spot waved them over.

"Hey, guys, come heah. It's a hole," he said. The boys followed and pressed their ears to the wall as Spot looked through. "I can't see the whole cell, but someone's in there."

"I can't hear anything," Race said.

"Race, cup your hands to your ear, like so, _then_ press it to the wall," explained Blink. Race nodded and did so. He heard whistling. He was whistling their chant..._Seize the Day._ Blink and Race took one look at each other and shouted unanimously, "JACK!"

There was more scrambling before Jack came to the wall and peered through the hole. Spot shrieked in surprise.

"Who's dat?"asked Jack in a hushed tone.

"Dat, my friend, was Spot," said Race, laughing.

"Racetrack! You awright?"

"Sure, Sure. Listen, your broddah's in heah too. Obviously, so's Spot."

"Blink? You okay, kid?"

"Fine, Jack, fine. You?"

"Course. 'Course I am," said Jack. In actuality, his chin was very sore from where he was punched. He was rubbing it at this very moment.

"Listen, Jack," Spot said, speaking into the wall, "we got an itch dat someone snitched."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Racetrack, "Remembah last night? Remembah when Snydah came and he was lookin' for you? Someone had to have told him. Someone snitched."

"Yeah, but who?" asked Jack.

"Don't worry Jack, we'll find out," said Blink. There was a pause before he added, "You know, Jack, you ain't gonna get out any time soon, since you didn't finish your term and all."

"I'll find some way to get out. You know me, Blink," Jack reassured.

Once again, the door was opened. So, was Jack's on the other end. Crutchy was led inside, and so was Jack a few minutes later.

"This boy wants to talk to all of you together," said the cop. He remained inside.

"Crutchy! Aren't you supposed to be at the reformatory building? What are you doin' in da pen?" asked Jack.

"Snydah's got a busy day. I been heah for hours. Some of the recent inmates are bein' evaluated by the chief of police," Crutchy explained.

"Oh," they all said together.

"Listen, I had to tell ya...I told Snydah," said Crutchy, before adding in super-speed,"It-was-an-accident!"

"Its okay, Crutchy," said Jack.

"Sure," said Race.

"I just saw your face in da newspapah. I blurted out your name. He was gonna beat me! It's all my fault you're in here," Crutchy admitted. Race and Jack patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Crutchy. Da bulls were bound to find out soonah or latah," said Jack.

"Time to go, kid," said the cop. Crutchy nodded and turned away.

"Take care of yourself, Crutch," said Jack.

"Yeah, take care," said Spot. "Don't lose sleep ovah dis, Crutchy. We probably wouldah done da same in your situation. You have enough troubles."

"Thanks, guys," said Crutchy, with a slight smile.

"Poor kid," Race said, as soon as he left. Then, another cop came and said,

"You too, Kelly."

Jack walked away.

"The trials tomorrah mornin'. Do me proud, boys," said Jack, with a final good-bye.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race and the others were led into the courtroom with the other newsies. The Judge entered the room.

"Nervous?" Dutchy whispered in his ear.

"Nah. Just play it dumb," he whispered back. "Pass it around to thoughts who have been in the refuge before. For those who haven't, they don't have to try. They won't have any idea to what the judge is sayin."

"Got it," said Dutchy, and the word was quickly spread.

"All rise! All rise! Judge E. A. Monaghan presiding," announced the officer. Race swayed on his feet. The sudden change from darkness into light was making him lightheaded.

"Are any of ya represented by counsel?" asked the judge. Following Race's orders, everyone looked around , "confused".

"No. Good, good. That'll move things along considerably," said the judge. Race and Spot rolled their eyes. "Hey, Your Honah, I object," announced Spot.

"On what grounds?"

Spot made a face of consideration before answering, "On the grounds of Brooklyn, Your Honah."

Race snorted in laughter.

"Brooklyn!" Bumlets repeated in between chuckles.

"I fine each of you five dollars, _or_ two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge," ordered the judge. Race couldn't believe his ears. Did the guy honestly think they could pay that much? On their salary?

"Whoah, whoah, woah. We ain't got five bucks! We don't even got five cents!" Race argued. Then, just for good measure, he added, "Hey, Your Honah, how 'bout I roll you for it? Double or nothin'."

The judge, now fully irritated at their lack of seriousness, ordered for them to move along. However, Denton barged in with David and Les, and announched, "Your Honor, I'll pay the fines. All of them."

They boys were taken aback, once again, by Denton's generosity. Then, irritated at David's lack of common sense.

"Hey, fellahs, you alright? Where's Jack?"

_Where do you think he is, ya bum!_

"Look," Denton said, "we gotta meet at the restaurant. Everybody. We have to talk."

The boys nodded. Just then, Jack was being ushered in,

"Pay the clerk! Move it along!" Judge Monaghan ordered.

"Hey fellahs!" shouted Jack from across the room.

"Hey Cowboy! Nice shinah!" shouted Race. Jack nodded. He was glad for Race's humor. It lightened up his own mood. Seeing Blink's slightly worried expression, Racetrack assured him as they were being ushered out, "Jack's fine."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading


	7. Difference Between Friends and Enemies

1**Chapter7:**

Discalaimer: As you know, I don't own the movie...but I also don't own the song that I inserted in here. It was sung by Jerry Cohan, and I first heard it from a really, really old movie called, _Yankee Doodle Dandy. _I also stole diologue from the script in the movie (refuge scene with boys trying to break Jack out, the scene where they find out that Jack is a scab, and the scene where they're handing out papers, informing people of the meeting at the square).

_OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

Back at the lodging house.

9:30 PM

"I can't believe he said that! _It didn't happen._ It did _too_ happen!" David complained. Everyone bowed their heads. Now they didn't have Jack _or_ Denton. Everyone moped about the lobby of the lodging house. Specs sat himself at the piano in the corner of the room and played a cheerful tune. Then he began to sing a well known tune by Jerry Cohan, father of George M. Cohan.

"_Larry O'Leary is me name_

_By trade I am a dancing master_

_There's no one can teach the same_

_...Or teach it any faaaasterrrrrr_

_Its easy_

_Very easy_

_If you watch every twist, every turn_

_Keep your eyes upon me _

_And surprise you will be _

_At the dancing you have yet to learn."_

Even after singing, Specs kept on playing. Race took up the liberty of dancing to the tune, remembering how Jerry and George Cohan danced when he saw it with his mother. Everyone watched every twist, every turn that he made. Race had a talent of remembering things, and picking up things really quickly, and he even surprised himself that he remembered all the steps that he saw when he was five. After dancing, Race and Specs joined together, with some of the other newsies, to sing the final verse.

"_Keep your eyes upon me_

_And surprise you will be_

_At the dancing you have yet to learn._"

Everyone clapped, while Specs and Race stood up to bow. Race took an especially deep bow, causing a pocket knife to drop out of his pocket.

"Wow! Where'd you get that?" gasped Les.

"Seems that Race is full of surprises," commented David.

"What's it to ya?" Race asked David, edging closer. Then, he turned to Les. "Stole it a few years back."

"It was the day you got out of reform school, wasn't it, Race?" asked Snipeshooter.

"Yeah, the day I got out of the refuge."

"Its not right to steal," said David. He knew he was walking on a line, saying that.

"Its not right to kill, either," said Race, eyeing David.

"What has that got to do with anything?" asked David. This was when Blink decided to intervene.

"C'mon, Race. You look tired, I think it's time for bed for all of us," he suggested.

"It's only 10:00. I'm not ti—" Race was interrupted by a familiar face at the door.

"C'mon David. Les, it's time to go home," said the man. "Mama's worried."

Race took a sip of water from Skittery's cup, then handed it back to him. He walked around Mr. Jacobs, the man at the door, and just looked at him.

"So, 'dis is your ol' man, Jacobs," said Race.

"Race, c'mon. Don't to this," said Kid Blink.

"Remember me?"

"You two know each other?" asked Les, innocently.

"Sure. Sure we do," said Race. He finally stopped circling the family. "Knew my father too, didn't you, Jacobs?"

"C'mon, boys, lets go," said Mr. Jacobs, seemingly unfazed by Race's menacing tone and expression. David looked at his father, then at Race, confused.

"Actually, Dad, I think I'll stay here. The boys and I are going to try to break Jack out."

Mr. Jacobs looked at his son, then grinned.

"Be careful, son," he said. Then he took a final glance at Race, who still held his glare. "Are you going too, boy?"

Racetrack nodded.

"You be careful, too."

"Papa, can I go too?" Les pleaded. Mr. Jacobs thought for a moment.

"Stay with your brother."

Then he exited.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

As the boys walked to the refuge, David stayed close to Race. It was about fifteen minutes before they were in seeing distance from the refuge when David finally asked.

"How do you know my father?"

"Ask your pop," Race said, darkly.

"I'm asking you."

"You know that knife I got in my pocket?"

"Yeah..."

"You keep askin' I'll cut your throat. Then, maybe, you wouldn't bug me with your stupid questions."

"It was something bad, wasn't it"

This was the final straw. Race wound up and wacked David in the mouth. It wasn't enough to knock him down, but enough to make him stumble back. Race, as if nothing just happened, simply turned to the other boys and said.

"Well? We gonna help Jack out or not?"

And the boys continued on their way, Race leading the way. Boots lagged behind with David and Les.

"Never mess with Race, or Jack. Especially if they're kind 'nough to give you a warning," he advised. David just nodded, rubbing his cheek. They continued to walk until David pointed to a large, brick building and said, "There it is. That's the window where we saw Crutchy."

_Yep, that would be it._

The boys begin to move forward, but a carriage comes to the front and Snyder leads Jack in.

"Its Jack!" cried Les.

"Shhhh!" Dave said, covering his brother's mouth.

"Where are they takin' him, Dave?" asked Mush.

_Yeah, like Davey heah would know,_ Race thought to himself. This made him chuckle a bit. Kid Blink nudged him and asked in a quiet tone, "What's so funny?"

"Nothin'."

"...Only one way to find out," Dave continued, "I'll meet you guys at the square. Racetrack, watch him."

_What nerve!_

With that, David hitched a ride on the back of the carriage and down the street he went. Davey Jacobs to save the day.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

All the newsboys that came with David waited at the square. Racetrack held Les's hand. He felt strangely protective and responsible for the boy. As if Les was his _own_ younger brother. Suddenly, Race felt a tug on his sleeve.

"What is it kid?"

"You think Jack will be okay?" asked the little kid

"Sure, he'll be fine. You'll see."

"Race?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'd you hit my brother?" Less asked, innocently. Race bent down so that he was eye-level with the boy, and grabbed his arms, and said.

"Did I hurt _you_?"

"Of course not. You punched my brother, not me."

"Then don't worry about it, kid."

"Okay," Les said. Just as Race got up from his squatting position, Les pulled on his sleeve again.

"What is it now, kid?" he asked, bending down, once more.

"Just one more thing, how'd you know me pop and why don't you like him?"

"There's something about our pasts that just don't agree. When past relations don't agree between two people, usually future relations don't for those two, either. Understand?"

"I think so. Me pop and you didn't agree about somethin' in the past, and you probably never will."

"Something like that, kid," Race smiled and mussed up Les's hair. It wasn't long before David could be seen down the street. When he came up close, he shook his head.

"He wouldn't come. He said he'd get me in trouble. Imagine that. He tried to make me believe that he was afraid. That I should be too. I knew better, though. He took off," David announced.

"Obviously, you didn't."

"What's that, Race?"

"Obviously you _didn't_ know better. Jack has to finish his sentence. Plus, you don't know what it's like in the refuge. The place is hell. Its supposed to turn boys out for the better, but sometimes boys come out for the worse. Jack doesn't want you to experience it. Plus, don't think he was just thinking of you. He was thinking of your family...of Les," Race explained. Then, he walked up to David and jabbed his finger into his shoulder. "Don't think you know everything. Don't think you know Jack, 'cause you don't. The background that Jack has, that a lot of us newsies have, you can't trust us. As you probably know, Jack isn't Jack Kelly. Its Francis Sullivan. Blink is Brian Sullivan. I am Anthony Kieran Higgins. We grew up togethah. Our parents were the best of friends, so are we. We stick togethah. Jack will never depend on you. He can't. He knows dat, I know dat, you just don't know dat. You know why? You can't trust no one. Not if you knew 'em for a hundred years. Not unless you knew them from birth. Like brothers. Like us. Undahstand?"

David shook his head, "You are so full of it."

"What?"

"You think you know everything. That I don't. I sure as hell do."

"That's what you think."

"No–"David was interrupted by a punch square in the jaw. David stumbled back and rubbed his jaw in surprise.

"Fight!" Race yelled at him.

"No! You can't go through your entire life fighting and running, Race!" David yelled back. Race lunged his whole body into David, knocking him to the ground.

"Race, cut it out!" Mush shouted, trying to get Race off of him. Blink pulled Mush away.

"They need to fight this out," he whispered. Race got up and waited for David to stand up, as well. When he did, he braced himself for a punch.

"C'mon, kid. I know you have it in you!"

"Race, life isn't fighting!" David repeated.

"Life IS fighting, Jacobs!" Race yelled. "When there's a struggle you have to fight. Defend yourself to overcome it! You want to overcome me? Punch me! Hit me in the jaw, right here!"

"So, your saying to get my point across, I have to hit you?" David questioned.

"Sometimes," Race answered. He remained standing still, hands at his sides, just to see if David would finally punch. He never did. He shook his head in discontent. "Fine. C'mon guys."

Race waved for his friends to follow. He put an arm over Blink's shoulders and they walked down the street, back to the lodging house for a good night's sleep.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The next day, the newsies crowded outside the world building. Things were just out of control and there was utter confusion. Race lead the chant, and then all the newsies joined in : "Stop the World! No more papes!"

The confusion started when the cops started to barricade the entrance way and some of the newsies decided they should fight against them. David walked around frantically, trying to stop the newsies from fighting.

"You can't stop this with fists!" he yelled. Desperate, he walked over to Race for help. Race, himself, was pre-occupied with trying to calm things down. "Race! Help me! I need some help!"

"Alright, alright! I ain't deaf!" Race yelled. Spot bumped into Race while yelling for the other newsies to stop.

"Hey, hey, hey! Break it up!" he yelled. Then his eyes focused on something in the distance. "Hey, Race, come here."

"What?"

"Tell me I'm seeing things! Just tell me I'm seeing things!"

Race's eyes finally focused on the same thing Spot was looking at.

"No, you ain't seeing things," Race said. He couldn't believe his eyes. So, Jack _was_ a traitor. He loves Sarah, _and_ he's a scab. "That's Jack. What's he doin'?"

Cops began to surround them, to prevent them from attacking the "scab".

"He's dressed like a scabber!"

All of the newsies began to yell and plead to Jack. Pleading for him to tell what was going on...but he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't defend himself.

"He sold us out!" Spot yelled. Race took his chance to walk up as far as he could, just to yell, "I'll give you a new suit! Ya BUM! I'LL SOAK YA! YA FAKE!"

It wasn't until after David confronted him that Jack finally left the glaring eyes of his "friends".

"Seize the day, huh, Jack?!" Race yelled, before Jack disappeared into the crowd.

"He's foolin' 'em so he can spy on 'em or somethin'," Les reassured the boys, trying to make himself believe, too. Race chuckled, then patted the boys head and said,

"Yeah, he's spyin' on 'em, kid."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race spent the rest of the day being frustrated with Jack. He left for the racetracks later that evening to place a bet. He only had a nickel on him at that moment, but it would be enough to buy him a betting card. Race was about to hitch a ride on the back of a carriage when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Morris Delancey. He had a black eye and a bruised lip.

"What happened to you?" asked Race, making a face of disgust.

"Your friend, Jack. That's what happened," he answered.

"He ain't my friend. What do you want? I have a feeling you didn't come here to complain about Jack," Race said, straightening his shoulders, and pushing Morris's hand off of one of them.

"Actually, It _is_ about Jack but I ain't here to complain. See, he's turning on us and going back to his roots. He's going back to the strike. Seems like he never intended to stay, anyway. However, with him on your side, the strike continues. If you don't work, we don't get as much money...we get no money. So, I'm going to send a message to your friend, Jacky-boy," Morris threatened, raising his fist. Race thought quicky and shouted,

"Hi Oscar!"

When Morris turned to greet a brother who wasn't there, Racetrack took his chance and ran. He ran as fast as he could, but Morris caught up, and grabbed him. He led him by the back of his collar to a dark alley. Then he pushed Race down and sat on top of him, pinning his arm down with his knees. Race tried to squirm out, but with his arms pinned down, he couldn't do much.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!" he finally decided to yell. Morris slapped his face.

"Quiet!" hushed Morris. Race started to panic. He wasn't prepared for the sure pain that was to follow his encounter with this particular enemy. He wouldn't let Morris hurt him, not without a fight, but he couldn't fight. So, he decided to beg and plead, instead.

"Please, Morris, couldn't you give Jack a verbal message? How 'bout a written one? Just don't use me as your message!" he pleaded, desperately. His voice was shaky and full of panic. He was saying it so fast, and stuttered quite a bit, that Morris almost couldn't understand what he was saying. It was the exact opposite of how Race wanted and expected it to sound. However, this desperate plea for mercy earned him another slap...except this one was in the form of a punch.

"Quiet," he ordered, harshly. Then, he added while taking out a switch blade, "So, one of Jack's boys is actually afraid."

"I ain't afraid! I ain't afraid," said Race, trying to sound as tough as he could. When the blade edged closer to his throat, his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but Morris covered it just in time. His screams and please were muffled as the blade edged closer to his jaw line. Race finally began to quiet down when he realized that there was nothing he could do to get anyone t help him. He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, as he prepared himself for the burning pain that was sure to come.

"Stop!" came a voice Morris's body scrambled up, and Race could tell he was being pulled off. When he opened his eyes he saw it was Mr. Jacobs who had thrown Morris off of him. Morris was now running away like a coward. Race met Mr. Jacobs eye to eye, now.

He was panting. His body was recovering from the fear he felt a few minutes ago.

"Why'd you do that?" asked Race.

"I would have never let a boy get hurt. You or anybody," he said.

"But you could kill a grown man. A father. I needed him, you know. I had no one else," Race yelled. He stayed a fair distance away from Mr. Jacobs.

"My family was at risk," he said.

"Why didn't you go to the cops?"

"It wasn't that simple. I was too deep into trouble. I was involved with a gang for money," he explained.

"You sorry now?"

"I'm sorry It had to be your father, but to be honest, if my family was threatened again, I would have done it again in a minute."

"So your sayin' if I was in your situation, I would have to kill, oh say...your David, just to save my best friend, Jack or Blink?"

"No, you should find help."

"Yeah. Exactly...you should have done that, or at least have warned my father before hand, so that he had a head start. Then, your family wouldn't have been threatened and my pop would have been alive today. I would have never had to survive on my own, and maybe Aunt Sophie wouldn't have even died. I wouldn't have gone to the refuge, and Jack's dad wouldn't be in the state pen."

"Don't you think I went through all this in my head?"

"You told _me_ to go for help."

"I couldn't have done the same thing. No matter how similar our situations may be, yours would never have been the exact same as mine...unless we switched bodies. Your only a child. People would take more concern."

"You're right. I don't know what situation you were in, but you sure as hell ain't innocent, and you could let Jack's Pop out, if you just confessed."

"My old boss is still out there."

"Yeah, so, the police would find him," said Racetrack.

"Don't be so naive. He would find my family first and kill someone. Maybe all of them, and I wouldn't be there to stop him. You don't know how good he is. I do."

"Fine, but next time I'm in this kind of situation, don't bother savin' me, 'cause I won't evah do da same for you. Evah! Do you undahstand me? Watch your back, Jacobs," Race recommended before leaving.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The next day, Race was woken up early in the morning. It was still dark. Once his eyes adjusted, he recognized his next victim. He had accidentally swung and hit Blink before knowing it was him.

"Awww, _Ra-ace_!"

"What're you thinkin', wakin me up dis early?" he demanded.

"We's sellin' papes today, Race. Da headline's about our strike. Jacky-boy, Davey, Sarah, and Denton made it. Everyone's already up. C'mon, lets go!" Blink urged. Race rolled his eyes, then rolled out of bed. He scrubbed his face and pulled on some pants a shirt, then his pants, and pulled his suspenders up over that. Then, he put on his yellow and black checkered vest and his black derby cap. After everyone was ready, they made their way over to the back of the distribution center, to receive their papers from Jack through a cellar window.

"So you ain't a scab no more," commented Race, as he received his papes from his friend. Jack smiled.

"Nope. I'm back, Race," he said. Race put all his papes in one hand, then spit in the other to shake Jack's with.

"Friends again?"

"Always, Race, always."

After everyone received their papes, they parted ways and handed papers, "for free," as Jack ordered, to anyone who could read. Les had wanted people to pay a penny for each pape, but Jack and David explained why this couldn't be so.

Race made his way around the city asking people if literate and, if so, handed them a pape, titled,_ NEWSIES' BANNER: How We Can Stop the City. _

After giving up asking every single person if they knew how to read, he resorted to just handing the papes to every person he saw and summarized the pamphlet.

"Meeting at the square! Support the newsies! Pass the word!"

Seeing Race do this, Dutchy and Blink took his example. However, instead of going up to people and handing it to them, as Racetrack was doing, they stood right in the middle of the street and handed the papes, stealing Race's words.

"Meeting at the square!"

"Support the newsies!"

"Pass the word!"

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Race, Jack, and David were the last of the newsies to meet at the square. However, it was no one except them. They waited, and waited, and waited.

Thirty minutes passed, then an hour...that was when Jack was beginning to lose hope. Kid Blink left to see who was coming at the gate. When he returned, Mush asked,

"So, when's the others coming, Kid?"

Blink just shrugged.

"They ain't coming," Jack, who had been leaning against the statue, replied. He walked up to Mush and Kid. "It ain't gonna be nobody but us."

Les walked over to Jack, looking up at him with hope in his eyes. Jack put his arms around him and pulled him close.

"C'mon, Jack!" said Snitch, putting a supportive hand on his arm.

"Have hope, Jack," said Specs, leading him back to the statue with the rest of his friends. Les walked away from the rest his friends and said, repeating Jack's encouraging words from before, "When the circulation bells start ringing, will we hear it?"

Race followed him. This boy needn't be troubled, so he responded by putting a hand on Les's shoulder, and replied reassuringly,

"Nah! 'Course not, kid!" Race took his hand off his shoulder and wiped his sweating brow. He puffed out in exasperation before continuing. " What if da Delancy's come out swingin' will we hear it? Hmm?"

"No!"

"'Attah boy!"

As their friends surrounded them, they heard cheering, and even a band playing out in the distance. They knew it was for them. Race was so surprised he threw down his cigar as if nothing was happening, then realized what was going on and turned to Blink, crying, "Whoa-wa-wa-whoa-whoa!"

"Look!" Blink shouted, pointing to the gates. The gates flung open, and Spot was revealed, leading newsies from all of New York City. Brooklyn, Queens, Midtown, all over.

"Brooklyn!" Spot shouted above the cheers. People surrounded the Manhattan newsies, holding signs, and chanting, "Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Jack put Les on his shoulders and led him through the crowd. Noticing Seitz coming out of the World building, Race turned to Jack, pointed to Seitz, and shouted, "Deah me! What have we heah?"

With that, Jack put Les down, leaving him with his friends, and left with David into the world building. It was 15 minutes later that Race spotted Pulitzer and Jack in the window of the World building. Race pointed them out to his friends, and they began to shout for them. Pulitzer was yelling something and waving his arms like a madman. This only made the crowd laugh. It was fifteen more minutes later when Jack and David finally returned. Everyone was asking Jack what he said, but it was Race who went right up to him and asked him in his ear. Jack just ignored him, and whispered it to Les, put the boy on his shoulders, and shouted to the crowd, "WE DID IT!"

Everyone's arms went up in the air and they cheered. IT wasn't long before Les started tapping Jack's shoulders and saying, "Jack, Jack it's the bulls! Let me down. It's the bulls!"

Jack lowered Les to the ground and took a worried glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was the police carriage coming toward them. Race took Jack by the shoulders and tried to lead them out.

"Stay down, Jack!" Race whispered, as they tried to disappear and run away.

"Whoa, whoa, Jack! Its over!" Denton yelled above people's shouts. _What is dis guy, a loon?_

"Let him go!" Race yelled, pulling at Denton's arm. He was to strong for Race, but Jack broke through, anyway.

"No, no, no! You don't have to run! Not anymore!"

_Well, its too late now, Denty. They're too close for him too run._

Jack must have thought the same thing, for his raised his arms up, as Denton pushed him forward.

"Not from the likes of him," Denton continued. The newsies walked forward, still in disbelief, and watched as children exited the carriage, including Crutchy, and Warden Snyder was led in. Crutchy even had the honor of closing those darned doors on him. Everyone patted Crutchy on the shoulder, happy to see him back. Crutchy explained the whole situation about Roosevelt and how he came barging in, yelling and screaming at the warden. As if on cue, the governor of New York, himself, appeared in a carriage, making his way through the crowd.

Race couldn't believe his eyes.

"That's Roosevelt?" he gasped, as if it was his very first time seeing the man. Denton told him that Teddy could give him a ride_ inside_ the carriage, to anywhere he wanted to go.

"So, ah, could he drop me at the train yahds?"

"Yeah, if that's what he want," Denton nodded.

_The train yahds? Gonna go do Santa Fe without me and Blink, Jack?_

Denton led them all to the carriage to greet the governer. All of their hearts pounding in excitement, all the while. David stayed behind with Itey and some of the others, but Racetrack was by Jack's side the whole time, hoping he would at least ask Blink to join him. Jack hopped into the carriage and whispered in Race's ear as fast as he could, "I'm coming back for you and me bruddah in t'ree months. Wait foah me heah."

Race nodded and passed the word to Blink, who took a sigh of relief. However, both the boys couldn't believe Jack was doing what he was doing. Race and some of the others grabbed onto the back of the carriage and followed it to the gates. When Jack was gone they joined the others at the gates.

"Where should we sell, today, Race?" asked Blink.

"Try bottle alley or the hahbah...what do I always tell ya, Blink? The best locations are those two," said Mush. Race shook his head, looked Blink square in the eye, and said as he did everyday when they were selling,

"Try central park, its guaranteed."

Race patted Blink on the chest before following Mush and David to the distribution center.

"Try any bankah, bum, oah bahbah," suggested Crutchy the way Jack would have suggested.

"They almost all know how ta read," Blink shrugged.

"Summer stinks!" one of the newsies shouted.

"And winter's waitin!" Skittery responded

"Welcome to New York!" yelled a bunch of the guys. The daily banter before the selling of papes continued the way they used to, all the way up to the distribution window, where they were greeted by a new face. Race leaned on Mush's shoulder while waiting for Davey to order his papes.

"A hundred papes," he demanded, laying down his coin. Mush and Race smiled, and an encouraging hand on David's shoulder. David glanced at Race who took his hand of his shoulder and smiled.

"Truce?" said Race, sticking out a dry hand for David to shake.

"Truce on what?"

"Friendship without question," said Race.

"Truce," replied David, taking Race's hand. Race had decided earlier, that Jack was right. He shouldn't blame David for his father's actions. Besides, they had been through enough together. Just as Mush was about to order his papes, cheering could be heard in the distance.

"Jack!"

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that night, Race laid upon his bed. Blink was on top bunk, him on bottom, and Jack across the hall.

"So, Jack, what decided you?" whispered Race, only loud enough for Jack to hear, but quiet enough not to wake anyone.

"Truth?"

"Yeah."

"You guys."

"And..."

"Sarah."

"Ooooh, Jacky-boy's in love!" said Dutchy, who was apparently awake.

"Shhhhh!" Jack and Race said unanimously.

_Things are going to be okay_.

For now. Things are going to be okay for now. Race will try his best to be friends with David, no matter how painful it may be. Things will get back to how they were. Race was sure of it.

Race reached under his mattress for his bag of saved money. He assumed that Jack, Blink, and himself were going to continue to save up for Santa Fe. He counted the money. He sighed, realizing he spent most of it, because of the strike. Oh, well. They won. That's all that mattered, right? Wrong. There was more to life then selling papes. Race knew that. It was great that they won the strike, but Race needed to start thinking about what he should be doing when he's too old to sell papes...

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Did you like it?

This kind of keys you in on what (I think) the next chapter will be about. Race's future. Race will also be dealing with how to be friends with David and avoid his father at the same time. Then, of course, there'll be more surprises (which I can't tell you about, because then they wouldn't be surprises)!

I didn't do shout outs on this chapter, but you know I love all you guys for reviewing. Thanks for every, single one! I will do shout outs for next chapter. Promise!


	8. Outta Luck

Chapter 8:

Thank you for all the reviews! I apologize for last chapter being such a sap. I mean, would Race honestly change his mind that fast about Dave?

Shout outs (thanks for all the reviews):

**Newsiegoil:** Your reviews make me feel so good! You're so encouraging. That's something you're good at. I read and reviewed one of your stories. I really liked it.

**Resist Gravity: **I hope, for you, this chapter is as good, or better, than the last. Thank you for reviewing!

**Thranduil2:** More of the horse and jockey to come, as ordered. Glad you liked him! Thanks for reviewing!

**Calzino: **I'm so glad that you like it! I hope it only gets better!

**Elfchicks: **I'm glad you think its interesting, and I hope it gets more interesting for you in future chapters. I'm always a little scared that it gets to boring at times...or too confusing...especially when I forget to proofread...

Anyway, I'm babbling. On with the story.

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Race, the next day, bought his usual fifty papes, handing his pay to the new man. His name was Benny Foster. He kindly ordered the boys to call him plain Benny. Race decided he liked him. So did the other boys. Race sat on the edge of the platform and did what he usually did before the strike. He skimmed the headlines. There was an article about _them_, the newsies, on the front page. Jack sat next to him.

"Look a' dis, Jack," he said, showing the paper to his friend. Jack grinned proudly,

"You were right, Race. We're the kings of New York."

"Nah...I was on a high dat day," he replied, modestly. David plopped down next to Jack. Race, still unsure about starting a friendship with David (despite what he said yesterday), shifted his gaze and interest back to the newspaper.

"What's on the headlines today, boys?" he asked.

"Us," Jack answered. He was almost knocked over by Blink, who jumped over him, off the platform and onto the ground.

"Watch it!" Jack yelled at his brother. Blink just smirked.

"Hey Race," Blink said, turning his attention to his best friend.

"Hey what?" Race asked, looking up at the one eyed boy standing in front of him.

"Lets go sell at da tracks," he said, waving him over.

"You sure you wanna come?" asked Race, knowing that he wasn't much company when he was selling papes. He liked to keep to himself, even when he was with somebody.

"Sure, I need some quiet time, and you need a friend to sell with," said Blink. Race smiled in gratification. He hopped down from the platform to join his friend. Both Blink and Race hitched a ride in the back of a covered wagon, carrying crates of goods. They laughed about the headlines all the way to Sheepshed.

"Back to the good old days, right Race?"

"Yeah."

They hopped of the wagon when it began to go the wrong way, and they walked the rest of the distance to the Races. It was only ten minutes away from where they were (on foot), anyway. It took them all morning and most of the afternoon to sell each and every one of their papes. By the time they were finished, it was 5:00 and they knew that Jerry was preparing for a race, so, they entered the tracks. They asked to see their new friend. They were refused, and turned away because no one believed they knew the great jockey and his horse. They began to walk out after a long argument, but Jerry saw them.

"Walking out on me, are you?"

"Jerry!" they yelled. They ran to him, and patted him on the back.

"Big day, huh?" asked Race.

"No bigger than any other," he replied, modestly,

"I like your attitude," Blink commented. Jerry led them inside a smelly barn.

"Do you want to give her a rub down, Race?" asked Jerry, pointing to his horse.

"Could I?"

"Sure, let me show you," he said, and he showed Race how to brush the horse's mane and massage her muscles. Then, Race took over, talking in her ear, the whole time. Jerry, trusting Race with his girl, left the barn with Blink.

"So, now we're alone, Crystal, old girl," he said. "You know, life's funny. Jack, the most stubborn person I've met, is da most fahgivin' person also. He's friends with da son of a murderah, you see. How come? I don' know. He's a wacko. You know, I nevah actually saw my father die? I heard him. I felt him die. I never saw him die. Jack saw. So did Jack's ma and pop. Jack actually has sympathy toward the guy. His name's Jacobs. Yeah, he told me his story. Should I believe him? Should I believe him, ol' gal? Well, anyway, turns out, he t'inks it ain't his fault. Was he not the guy who put a barrel to my pop's head?"

He paused for a few minutes, brushing.

"I guess it don't make no difference no longah, dat Jack sympathizes with dis Jacobs fellah. He can fall in love with Sarah and be friends with David and Les, but it don't mean I have ta. I don't gotta be friends with David, but I know now that I can't be ...oh, what's the word...hosteel...hostile...yeah, hostile toward him. It don't make no difference. I can't get to close to any o' dem, cause, I swear, ol' girl, he'll pay. Oh, dat Mr. Jacobs will pay!"

The horse nayed in response.

"Dat's right!"

Race stopped talking to the horse for a little while and continued to brush the horse. He froze when her heard footsteps. If it wasn't Jerry or Kid Blink, he was sure to be thrown out. How was he to explain why he was in here with someone else's horse. He relaxed himself and continued to brush the horse down, trying to make himself unnoticeable.

"Hey boy, yeah you! What are you doing here? Are you a stable boy?" asked a tall man, with black hair slicked back and a black mustache on his upper-lip.

"No, no, I'se a newsie. I'm just brushin' down this horse for a friend," he explained.

"Do you know this horse's Jockey?" the man asked.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" asked Race.

"Do I know you? You look familiar. Maybe I knew your father. What's your name, kid?"

"Racetrack Higgins."

"Higgins, huh? Frankie Diaz. I'm here on business, not that its anything to you. Good to meet you," said the man, sticking out his large hand.

_Name sounds familiar._

Race took the hand, hesitantly.

"Are you going to bet on this race?" asked Diaz

"They don't call me Racetrack for nothing," replied Race. He eyed the guy suspiciously.

"Listen, do me a favor and don't waste your money on that. I have a guaranteed way that you can make money. I've seen this man at the tracks a few times. If you see him, let me know. In fact, if you happen to know where he lives, tell me," said Diaz, handing Race a picture. It was Mr. Jacobs. Race stared for a long while. He had a feeling this Diaz guy wanted trouble, so, for some reason, he shook his head.

"Nevah seen da man," he lied.

"If you do, tell me, " said the man, giving him, what Racetrack supposed was supposed to be, a winning smile. "Keep the picture, and give it to your jockey friend. See if he knows him."

"Where can I find you if I get any information?" asked Race.

"Ask around. You'll find me," he said, before turning to leave. He walked a few steps, then turned back and said, "And Mr. Higgins, if you tell me where this man is, you get sixty-five bucks."

_Sixty-five bucks!_

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

Race walked all the way to from the barn to the tracks. He sat with the crowd of incoming people waiting for the race that was to begin in an hour. Even after the race (Jerry lost by a nose hair) he sat on those bleachers. All the while, from the time he left the barn, to the end of the race, he had been thinking about the man's proposal.

_I mean, sixty-five bucks is a lot of money...even if it does mean betrayin' all my friends. Betraying their trust. _

Trust was a big thing among the newsies. The only thing they depended on was each other. Then, again, you never really knew who you could depend on. Doing this, squealing on Dave's father, would be betraying _all_ of the newsies, in a way.

_But its sixty-five bucks. That's a lotta dough_.

But what about Jack and Blink? What would they think of him if he squealed?

He thought about this all the way to the bleachers. He didn't even notice Jerry sit next to him.

_They'd be proud, of course! We could finally get out of here and go to Santa Fe. I could maybe even buy me a horse! I could become a jockey!_

"Someone looks deep in thought," commented Jerry, in attempt to break Race out of his thoughts. No avail.

_But who's to say that he'd even give me the sixty-five bucks? Is it really worth it?_

"Race..."

'_Course it's worth it! I can get Mr. Jacobs out of the way. The murderah...the rat...that scum..._

"Race!"

"What!" shouted Race, suddenly irritated by the sound of someone else's voice. "Oh, sorry Jerry."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"For a dime, _maybe_."

"Its an expression, Racetrack."

"Oh, too bad," said Race, distantly. He was drifting off again.

"So, you won't tell me what's on your mind?"

"I can't."

"Why."

"Believe me, Jerry, if I could, I would," replied Race, burying his face in his hands. Jerry sighed and got up.

"I think its time you learn to ride, Race," said Jerry. Race shot up like a rocket, almost falling over.

"Really?"

"Sure. You take Princess, and I'll ride beside you on Midnight. He's my uncle's horse," Jerry explained. He lead race to the barn, then they brought the horses to the racetrack.

"You know how to get on," he said, when Racetrack just stood still. Race realized he was suddenly scared to go on. "What's wrong, Race?"

"Nothin'," Race answered, shaking his head to get all negative thoughts out of his head. He climbed onto Princess. After Race got comfortable, Princess had a shiver spasm which shook her whole body. Race grabbed onto the saddle for dear life. He straightened up, after that, taking a deep breath. "What da heck was dat?"

"She just had a chill. Now, grab onto the reigns the way I told you. There you go. Now, point your toes up, and kick her with your heal. If she goes too fast, just pull back on the reigns . Got it?" explained Jerry. Race did as he was told and kicked the horse with his heals. The horse trotted at a slow pace. Race was enjoying every bit of it. He was riding a horse on his own!

_Who'd a' thought! Me: Anthony Higgins. A jockey...okay, I'm not a jockey. Who cares! I'm ridin' a horse! _

And Race rode on the horse for hours, with Jerry by his side on a different horse. Race would talk in the horse's ear, and sometimes, it was almost as if the horse could understand him. Race decided he could get used to this. This could be his _thing_. Just like writing was Skittery's_ thing,_ and listening to people was Mush's _thing_, and annoying people was Davey's _thing_.

"Hey, Race?" Jerry said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought of training to become a jockey?" he asked. Race was startled at this at first.

"Sure. Sure, I thought 'bout it. In fact, I thought 'bout it a lot. Its just...people like me just don't get that luck, you know?" he said.

"Race, let me train you for a while. After you get really good, let me show you to my manager. Maybe he could find you one of your own. This very well _could_ be your thing," said Jerry. Race's face glowed with excitement.

"You ain't pullin' me leg?"

"No! Why would I?"

"I don't know. People seem to do a lot of that to people like me, nowadays," said Race, a little to lightly to be taken seriously. Even though he sort of meant it, he didn't want Jerry to know that.

"Meet me tomorrow. Same time. Training starts then. Got it?"

"But don't you have a race?"

"Canceled. I have a day off. Believe me, its worth it to be spending the day with a new friend...and future competitor."

"I don't know what to say...'cept thanks," said Race. He spit on his hand and held it out for Jerry to shake. Jerry spit on his own and took Race's, and they shook on it. Race and Jerry said their goodbyes and Race left with a smile on his face, forgetting all about those...

_Sixty-five bucks. _

_OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO_

Race walked all the way home, by himself...solo...alone. Not really the smartest thing to do at night, in the city (even in those days). Then again, the rich boy across the street, now that wasn't very safe either. He shouldn't be walking down the street on a night like this with people like Racetrack around. Racetrack grinned to himself. He walked across the street. The boy seemed about thirteen...easy enough. Race simply bumped into him, knocking the boy's new-looking wallet out of his pocket. With nimble fingers, he handed the wallet back to the boy, and slipped the money out of it whilst the boy was still grabbing it. The boy thanked him politely, and Race nodded in response.

_Suckah! _

Race looked at the money in his pocket. Not a moment later, he heard the boy yell,

"Theif! Someone help! That boy stole my money!"

It wasn't even a second after the boys cry, that the bulls came around the corners. Race ran in one direction, then another, then another. No matter what direction he took, he was cornered. He was done for. Finished. Down town was the only place to go. So, Race let the cops take him by the arms and lead him away. Kloppman, who had heard the ruckus, rushed outside in his tattered, old bathrobe and slippers. He was too late. The carriage with Racetrack Higgins in it was riding away. He asked a nearby cop who was helping the boy gather the money that Racetrack had dropped, what was going on.

"One of your trouble makers stole this boys' money. He's bein' taken down town, now," explained the cop in his gruff voice. He had a bushy red mustache, and his hat was too big on his skinny head.

"Racetrack..."Kloppman muttered. "You're luck ran out, kid. It can't last forever."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Uh-oh! What will happen to Racetrack? Stay tuned for the next chapters!


	9. On My Own

Sorry I took so long!

Here's chapter nine...

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

A two years passed after Race's trial. Jack, Blink, and some of the other newsies would visit Race at the reform school, but it wasn't long before the visits became few and far between. On their last visit, Race told them he didn't want them coming around anymore.

"It's no good. It's no good foah you to waste your time wit' me. 'Sides. Its hahd for me to plan an escape wit' you guys buggin' me all da time," said Race, jokingly...but his eyes were sad.

"No, Race...friends do these kind a things for each oddah,"said Jack, seriously.

"Frank," said Race, calling Jack by his old nickname. This meant Race was serious. "I need you to not come anymore. I'm gettin' out soon, but I ain't comin' back to the world o' newsies. I'm too old, anyway. I can't handle it. You know? I couldn't handle it den, I won't be able to handle it now.

Francis...I was offahed sixty-five bucks to turn Mr. Jacobs in. Sixty-five bucks! Now, you may have been able to see David beyond being a _son-of-a-murderah_, that's your talent, but I can't. Every time I look at Les, or David, I see the body of my faddah bein lowahed into da ground. I have to get outtah New York as soon as I am released from this joint."

"Then I think you should know a few things befoah you go, just in case you need any of us for any reason. Foistly, you'ah my best friend. Nevah forget dat, Anthony. Secondly, I'm gettin' married to Sarah, as you know, and we'se movin to Santa Fe. Blink is stayin' heah. He's takin' ovah Kloppman's job. Klopp's sick, you know. The rest of the Jacobs are movin' to Pennsylvania. Mush and Skitt have a job at a factory on main street. Dutchy has a job at a butcher's shop next to the distribution centah.That's proba'lly where you'd find us if you needed us. Thoidly...I'm always theah foah you if you need me. I'm only a pen and paper away," said Jack.

"'Sides," replied Blink, "If the Jacobs are all you're worried about, stay in New York with me."

"Nah, I'd cause too much trouble," said Race with a quick smile and a wink.

That was the last conversation the boys were going to have for a long, long time. Most people moved away over the years...some stayed, Blink included.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

As years passed, Race changed...a lot. In fact, no one knew him as Racetrack anymore. It was Tony. Just plain Tony. He rarely gave out his last name...Higgins. He was famous around the country...mostly because he was in almost every newspaper or wanted poster in the world.

It made Jack and Blink sad. Jack, back in Santa Fe, was a journalist. He wrote for the Santa Fe paper and published many articles on the famous outlaw, _Tony Tracks_. That was Anthony's most common alias, nowadays. Back in New York, it was Blink (still known as Blink) who read most of the papers that his newsies sold. That's how he found out about his friend and his new occupation. None of his newsies knew that their lodging house keeper knew this famous outlaw, who they idolized so much.

Tony was wanted for many things. He committed the act of thievery several times, he only murdered once (but he claimed that was in self defense), he escaped from prison each time he was caught, and blockading and pirating imports from other countries coming into New York. He was known as the most clever outlaw in the country. It seemed that Race's favorite place to commit crimes was out west, where all those cowboys were. He liked to laugh at them in their ten-gallon hats, while he wore his grey derby. Tony also had a partner in crime. Someone he met the last time he was in a reformatory. His name was Joey Donahue from England ( he was half Irish). They were both about the same age, but Joey, of course, was a bit taller. Joey was known as the _Reckless Kid_. Both of the boys thought the nicknames were stupid, but after they were printed for the first time on a wanted poster, they stuck with it at used them as aliases.

Tony was about twenty-four by now. He still had the same toothy grin, and the same mischievous twinkle in his eye. The only difference was, he was a bit taller than he used to be. Joey had ginger hair, and a bit of brownish, ginger fuzz on his upper lip and chin. He and Tony were the best of friends, since their first meeting.

It was a lazy day in a saloon in Oklahoma, that Tony got a life changing message. He was drinking his sherry and playing poker with a few cowboys who were poking fun at his New York accent, when Joey came barging in.

"Look at this! Just look at this, isn't it bloody ridiculous?" Joey said, handing Tony the newspaper. "We weren't caught during that last robbery! We were _almost _caught! Why can't these people get their facts straight...and look, they made the sheriff and his deputies look like heroes from one of those stupid cowboy novels!"

But it wasn't that article that caught Tony's attention. The article that caught his attention was headlined _Freak Murder: Pennsylvania Man Brutally Beaten to Death by Mob Boss._ Normally Tony wouldn't have cared, except that he had a weird feeling about this one. This weird feeling made him skim through the article.

_A middle aged man was found by his young son in an alley. This man had once been employed by famous mob boss, Frankie Diaz. Mayor Jacobs was murdered the night before last, beaten to death with a lead pipe. His son in law, Francis Sullivan, told the press, "He only worked for Frankie to protect his family."_

_It was the famous professor, Mr. Jacobs' son, David Jacobs, who found him in the alley. He said he was walking to his parents' house for dinner when he heard a moaning sound in an alley. He went over to him and called for help the moment he realized it was his father. People began to crowd about, not bothering to get a doctor, as Mr. Jacobs lie dying in David's arms._

_Frankie Diaz is still on the run, but it has not been revealed how the Police know it was him who killed Mr. Jacobs, for safety reasons. _

_The Jacobs family will hold Mayor's funeral next Sunday. Friends and family are welcome. _

_IF you know any of these people, please notify your local police, so they can be questioned, and/or arrested. These people are suspected of being some how associated with Diaz at some point._

_Nick Shaw_

_Joe Connelly._

_Tim Collins_

_Mark Darling_

_Anthony Higgins_

_Bobby Smith_

_Joey Donahue._

"Oh, you're reading that other article. Yeah, our boss is going down...then we can be our own bosses. Maybe we can blackmail him," Joey joked, half seriously. Anthony choked down his beer.

"Dis is my fault. I told him where he was, last week," he said. "I didn't think he'd actually kill him. I thought he'd try to pehsuade him to take his job back."

"What are you? Daft? Of course he would kill him. Hey, he paid you a lot of money for that."

"I know, but..."

And that's where the new adventures officially began, but before they do, I must tell you how Joey and Tony got into Diaz's business.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The day was cool and dry when Joey and Anthony finally got out of reform school. They were 21 and ready to make lives of their own. How? The only way that a juvenile delinquent knows how...continue being the same delinquent that they were before being "reformed". They formed a partnership and started to steal money from banks in New York, and didn't get caught until the next year...robbing another bank. They were in jail for a while, but Frankie broke them out and they were ready to go out on their own and live their own lives, but here was the deal: If they wanted to break out, they had to work for Frankie. They boys agreed, Anthony not so easily. It was strange that Frankie randomly showed up at their cell just to break them (of all people) out. There was, as Tony thought, a catch. Frankie heard of their cleverness, but knew of their many errors in their outlaw antics. He wanted to make them his apprentices. Frankie was a mob boss. They would take on the department of stealing and re-routing trade routes, so that imports going to New York would go to Massachusetts and they would hold up the boat and steal what was on it. Joey made most of the written plans for that, while Tony lead a bunch of men to ransack it and keep it in order...making sure everyone followed the plans that Joey made.

Being involved in a mob that killed his father, tortured Tony, but he was working his way up to killing Frankie. All he had to do was make sure Frankie didn't know that he knew what he did to his father, suck up to him, and work his way up to an almost "teacher's pet" relationship.

Tony found it hard to hate his current job, to be quite frank. He got the money, the girls, the boos, everything a man could ever want. He liked it. He lead a sinful life, completely the opposite of what kind of life he knew his mother would want for him, but he found it hard to separate from it.

Still, it was Joey who warmed up to Frankie, not Tony...but that was close enough. Joey would go over Frankie's secret plans with him, and Tony tried to take these plans into consideration to suck up to Frankie even more. It was later on that Tony would find out where Mr. Jacobs was and tell Frankie and the rest of his men. He knew this would lead to the demise of him. He would discover how much he regretted this later. Sometimes he would find out from Joey, where he would be on certain nights, and even got close to killing him in a pub in Illinois (they were there on business), but killed one of his assistants instead. Frankie never found out it was him who fired that shot. Anthony felt horrible, of course, but life must go on. So when I said he only killed one person, I lied. He actually killed two. One actually _was_ self-defense (despite what some other people prefer to argue), but this was a cold-blooded murder. He didn't stay in his hiding place to watch as the blood poured out of the man's chest, but cursed himself for missing so terribly. It must have been because of all those whiskies.

That's why this murder, the murder of Mr. Jacobs, was such a perfect oppurtunity to get his revenge. Would he tell the police? No, that was too risky. He would find Diaz himself...

...and kill him.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

First stop was Pennsylvania. He would be their for his friends, but remain unnoticed at the same time. Next stop was New York, where he knew Diaz would be.

He and Joey got on a train to Pennsylvania and rented two rooms in a hotel. Tony insisted in staying in the bigger of the two. In a few hours, they dressed in black garb. Tony wore a black jacket, with a black shirt and a black vest, with black pants, and black shoes. Joey wore a black jacket, white shirt, grey vest, black pants, black shoes, and a black derby.

They walked in to a grave-site where Mr. Jacobs was being buried. Tony saw many of his old friends, but stayed away and wore a black wide-brimmed hat low, to hide his eyes. He walked in at a calm, cool pace...like he knew a thing or two. He saw Mrs. Jacobs, surrounded by her family. Francis and Sarah, with their newborn baby in Sarah's arms. David stood with a red-head. It was obviously his wife. She leaned on him like a wife would, like she owned him. Les stood with a few kids his own age, perhaps friends from school. There were other women there...friends from church, maybe. Blink was...he still thought of Ryan as Blink, Blink was with a girl. She was a nice looking girl. She held his hand and was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. She had black hair and white skin. Everyone was clad in black. The partners in crime, Joey and Anthony, stood apart from the crowd, listening to the priest but trying to remain unnoticed by all.

The priest droned on and on about how happy Mr. Jacobs probably was in heaven and how he was forgiven for his transgressions. Blah, blah, blah, and all that jazz.

Tony stood there...trying to be invisible, hoping all the while that none of his old friends were there. He stood still, until people began to leave, then he walked away, turning his back to the grave of the man he helped murder, unseen by anyone...or so he thought.

"Race!" came a voice. It was Mush. Joey spun around.

"Where?" he asked, thinking about the gaming event and forgetting about the nickname that Tony only mentioned to him. Tony tapped Joey's shoulder, without turning around. When Joey didn't respond (he was still looking for a track of some sort) he spun him around and began to run. It was then that Joey began to finally understand. They ran as fast as they could, but Mush, thinking this was a dumb game of some sort, tackled him.

"What're you, too afraid to say 'hi'?" he joked. He turned to the other guys and shouted, "Hey guys, it's Race!"

Boots was the next one over. He looked so much older. He was tall and had a goatee.

"He sure looks differ'nt awright," he said with a laugh, extending a hand to help Race up. His voice was lower, too. Race chuckled to himself. He was happy to see his friends. Not everyone was there, but a lot of them were. Jack and David eventually caught up, with Blink and Les following close behind.

"Hey Race," said Jack. This was going to be awkward, Race knew.

"Heya Jack," he replied, with a quick grin and a wink.

"Still gettin' yourself in trouble?"

"Jack, don't start," Sarah demanded. She turned to Race, "It wonderful to see you, Racetrack."

"Yeah, wonderful," Jack said bitterly.

This was going to be a bumpy vacation.

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I know it was short and kind of crappy, but next chapter will be better


	10. Diffrent Somehow

Chapter 10:

Newsiegoil: Thank you! I appreciate it!

Here's the next chapter...better than the last (hopefully, because I hated chapter 9).

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Tony and Joey spent the rest of the afternoon with the former newsies. They spent it in the Jacob's household, which made Tony immensely uncomfortable. He was in the home of the man he helped kill. Jack eyed him all evening, making him feel as if he knew.

When the day was nearing an end, Tony bid goodbye to his old friends and left with Mush, Boots, and Joey to a bar in the next town over. Apparently it was the right night to come, because the owners hired a dancer for the night. She was on vacation, but they "borrowed" her for the night. Her real job was at a Burlesque theatre in New York. She danced on the bar and tables and sang sultry songs. Man whistled and made cat calls, but Joey, now Joey...he was a charmer. He knew how to treat a woman right. He took her hand and helped her down from a table. She smiled sweetly, and Tony realized how young she looked under all that make-up. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. She was still so young. She should be at home with her family.

Still, she was a good dancer. She toyed with the men's collars, kicked her legs high, caressed their cheeks, but always came back to Joey. She seemed to like him. She had an evil, yet sexy look in her eyes that made men think that they had a chance. She was a performer. Deep down, they knew that they had no chance what-so-ever. When her act was done she took a bow, then wove through the crowed of lustful men. Some men hit her behind or stole a peck on the cheek. She would smirk or grin, before running to the backroom. Joey took one look at Tony before disappearing into the crowd of cheering men, into a certain backroom. Tony smiled back, knowing what he was about to do...or get. He laughed and turned back to the friends he was sitting with.

"You're living a life of sin, Race," said Mush.

"Hey, you came to the bah wit' me," he shot back. "Besides, it isn't like you haven't seen me in da papahs. I've been in all a 'em. I'm famous. I just grew a stubble, that's all. Begin to grow a beard, and presto! You're an outlaw."

"You're going to kill yourself," Boots worried. Tony shook his head.

"I'm not little Racetrack Higgins anymoah. I'm a grown man. I will accept my punishments when it is time to serve them."

After a moment of silence, Race grinned and took out a pack of cards.

"I never come unprepared," he replied. The other boys laughed and waited for their cards to be delt to them.

Within an hour, Mush was already drunk. Boots was a little tipsy, but was still able to hold his own. Race was surprisingly still sober. He didn't seem too thirsty tonight. This was okay, because a moment later, Joey burst in, holding a gun, and the hand of the dancer.

"He's here! He knows you're here! I'll explain everything later, we must go! Now Tony! Forget your cards! RUUUUUN!"

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And they ran. Joey and Anthony ran out of the bar at top speed, with the temptress following close behind in her nighty. Mush and Boots stayed behind, prepared to cover for their old friend. That's what friends do, after all, right? Right, and Boots and Mush were good friends. However, Race wasn't much of one, anymore.

They would find that out very soon...

...You see, Tony and Joey weren't just mobsters. They were con-artists. I know, this story is getting a little wild, but it isn't, after all, any different from what Tony did as a child with his friends. They swindled many customers out of their money.

The dancer thing? That was just an act. It was planned. The dancer's name was Jasmine. She was a Hungarian gypsy. She belonged to no one but herself. She was, maybe what you would call, a bohemian. But she met the boys when they came to a gypsy camp to get their palms read. She did read their palms.

"_Oh, Mr. Higgins...your going to meet a beautiful young girl. She will be strange and naive. Oh, you don't like her very much. She's a con," she said. _

"_A what?" asked Joey, who was standing in the corner of the tent._

"_A con. Artist. A con-artist. She will swindle you both out of your money," she explained._

And she did. Since then, if they ran into each other, they would cook up an act so they can swindle money out of people's pockets, wallets, and purses. Its true, she was currently working at burlesque, but she learned of the Jacobs murder and how Diaz was involved. Tony told her a lot about his past, but not how closely related Mr. Jacobs was to his past and his former friends. She wrote to him to ask if he will be with Diaz. He wrote back saying he wouldn't be, for he knew not where he was, but he would be at Jacobs's funeral. He told her to meet him at a certain bar. He needed money and he had a plan to get it.

They met at a bar before the funeral and got the bar owner to hire her for the night. As she danced closely to various men that night, she would pick up their wallets, or money out of their pockets. When she and Joey disappeared into that room, they were packing various wallets into a suitcase. The whole thing with the gun? That was an act, too.

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They got lots of money that night. They divided it up evenly between them. Tony got 230 dollars, Joey got 230 dollars, and Jasmine got all the rest. 230 dollars, plus the pocket change. They celebrated at the hotel, with champaign and wine. A lot of kisses were exchanged between Jasmine and Joey.

"The look on your friends' faces when they saw me with the gun! It was bloody brilliant! Brilliant!" Joey shouted the last "brilliant" outside the window, above the balcony, overlooking the town. Tony laughed, remembering their faces. He was pure evil...and let me tell you, he didn't hate it.

"Lets make love!" Joey shouted across the small room to Jasmine.

"What makes you think I would do that with you! You tried a thousand times before and it hasn't worked. It won't work now," she laughed. Tony smiled, and quietly slipped away, and let the lovers play their game. It wasn't long before he heard lots of giggling. Tony was happy for them and slipped out the window to escape from the thin walls and left them to their privacy. He climbed down the ladder below the balcony, which stopped ten feet above the ground. He leaned against the wall and took out a cigarette to light.

"There he is!" he heard someone shout. He turned and looked to his right and saw Diaz's right hand man, along with a few of the other guys. Tony stayed where he was until he realized who was with the other men. Police. Diaz's right hand man already betrayed him to save himself (silly mistake). Tony ran down the street as fast as he could, rounding every corner he came to, until he thought he could run no more. He lost sight of them, but that meant nothing. He found an open door and slipped inside and walked up the stairs. The stairs stopped in front of a door, which he opened and there was a hallway. He knocked on the last door in the hallway. A young woman opened the door. He grabbed the woman by the arms and said insistently," Please, Miss, you must hide me. I'm in trouble, but I promise I won't get you in any. Just hide me."

The woman said nothing, but took him in and walked him through her sitting room to a large wardrobe in her bedroom. The wardrobe was empty.

"Hide in here," she said. He nodded and stepped in. His legs were so shaky, he slid down to the floor of the wardrobe. "Are you alright?"

But before he could answer the young girl, there was a knock at the door. He motioned with his head for her to go answer it, thinking, in his head, that this beautiful young girl was familiar looking. She nodded and closed the wardrobe door, after whispering that she will be back with water soon enough.

He listened as the door was opened. The new voice coming in was a kind one. It was a man's voice, but it didn't sound harsh like a cop's would. It sounded loving, the way a husband's would. The voices were suddenly coming closer, until he was able to hear the words clearly.

"He said he was in trouble. I hid him in here. He looks exhausted. You check on him while I get him water," said the young girl. It was a moment before the door was opened.

"I thought it would be you. I don't know why,"said the voice, a little too bitterly for Tony's liking. Then, Anthony was lifted to his feet, but he found he couldn't stand without the support of this man's arms. These weren't comforting arms, though. They were strong, forceful, mad arms. "I feel bad that you have troubles, Anthony, but don't bring them to my house. At least do me that favor."

Then Tony was thrown to the floor. This was when the young woman came back in and Tony's eyes still refused to look up.

"Ryan! Don't you see how weak he already is? Why did you do that? What's wrong with you!"

"Do you know who that man is, Meg?" he asked, harshly. "That is the famous outlaw, Tony Higgins."

There was a moment of painful silence before there was a response.

"While I don't care if he's Judas Iscariot. It's the right thing to do. Jesus told us that he wants us to take care of people in need, and that's what we should do. Now, help me get him onto the bed."

Tony could hear the shuffle of foot steps coming toward him, before his shoulders were lifted up and he was raised onto a soft mattress. He heard the glass of water being placed on a night stand beside him. A cloth was soon placed upon his sweaty brow. Tony let out a raspy cough. He never ran that hard in his life, and he wasn't in enough shape to do so. He wasn't fat or anything, but he wasn't used to hard work or exercise anymore. He was a different man. His closest friends were the first to realize that when he stepped foot in that graveyard earlier that day. Francis and Ryan Sullivan, his closest friends all his life, were saddened by the cold air that he set off.

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Soon Tony fell asleep and was awakened early in the morning by a horrible headache and a nauseous stomach. He had a hangover...yet again. Tony ran straight to the window and vomited all the contents out of his stomach. Ryan spotted him when he was just about finished. He helped Tony way from the window and back into the bed.

"Tell me where you and your friend were staying. I want you and him far away from here. I don't want you to bring trouble to my family, Anthony. You're different, and you don't deserve our friendship anymore. Oh, and before you leave, give Mush and Boots their money back. They don't have a lot of money, Anthony. You know that. That was a low thing to do," Ryan said, bitterly. Race closed his eyes and nodded his head.

"You know, you haven't spoken one word to me since we came here," Ryan replied. Tony's only reply was a cough and a sniff. Ryan rolled his eye and walked away.

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An hour passed. Tony, though he didn't remember, he gave Ryan information about where he and Joey stayed. Joey (surprisingly enough) agreed to give Ryan Mush and Blink's money back, taking out of Race's share. He and Ryan took a coach back to his flat, because it was too far to walk.

Joey picked Tony up (literally) and carried him to the coach and they rode back to the flat. When they got back, Jasmine was gone with only her share of money (last time they did this, she left with both their shares), but left a note.

_I've gone back to Burlesque. If you want to find Diaz, follow me back to New York the first chance you get. I will be waiting for you. I have an idea for a trap for Frankie._

_Love you boys!_

_Jasmine._

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Anthony and his friend disappeared from that small town in Pennsylvania that day, never to be seen..._again_, in that town, or anyone in it. Not for a long time, anyway.

It was a full day later when they finally arrived in New York. They rented a room and went straight to the burlesque theatre around the corner. The very same one that Jasmine was newly employed at. When they got in they asked for her. They were lead to her chambers and she sat them down on lounge chairs. It was then that she recited her plan of decept to them. She planned to pretend to be a prostitute that night and lead him to her chambers when he "paid". Of course, Jasmine wasn't really a prostitute, she was just a performer at burlesque. However, this plan that she was so exited about had a lot of holes in it. Tony decided that for now, they should just take it step by step. They should be slow in forming their plan.

"Revenge is a beautiful, yet delicate art. One must plan it carefully and intelligently," replied Tony in a husky voice. A moment passed before the three friends started laughing at Tony's very deep statement.

"Wow! That's beautiful!" said Joey.

"But true! We will take our time to plan," replied Jasmine. She took Joey's hand and they looked into each other's eyes and in that moment, Tony realized that it wasn't lust that they shared, but love.

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Hope this one was better!


	11. Revenge is Mine

Chapter11:

This has been proofread and changes have been made to make it a little less confusing.

Warning: This chapter is a wee bit dirty.

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The moment they arrived in New York, it was like being home again, for the both of them. They didn't do any work the first day they were there, and the only old friend that Tony ran into was Dutchy, who didn't recognize him, anyway. No one knew that Tony was in town. This wasn't such a bad thing, though.

The evening, and much of the night, was spent at Burlesque. Jasmine introduced Tony to a new comer at the theatre. They took an immediate liking to each other. Tony talked to her about "buisiness" and how he was a "humble barber" who worked in Pennsylvania. The name of the new girl was "Sparkling Sophia" who was from France. She had pale white skin with cherry blond hair and pink cheeks and red lips...even without lip paint. Tony was kissing her before the night was over, and they were forced to leave the theatre because of their sudden lust for one another. Tony took her up to his room. The kissing started once again, as soon as the doors were shut, and the windows were covered. Sophia caressed his neck with her lips and their fingers entwined. A moment later, somehow, a shirt appeared on the floor. Two seconds later, it was shared by a skirt. Soon, all clothing that had been on their bodies moments before, ended up on the floor.

Tony knew it was wrong. He didn't know this girl, plus, it was against his very own religion to share a bed with someone before marriage. However, it was also against his religion to steal and murder people. Everyone was right, he was leading a life of sin. He needed help, he knew, but would he accept it? Of course not. He wouldn't admit that the life he lead was dangerous and wrong. He needn't any help from anyone.

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The next morning, the whore was gone. The first thing Tony checked, of course, was his wallet. His money was still there. After realizing everything was where they were supposed to be, Race found himself slightly disappointed. He wanted to see Sophia again. He wanted to tell her...that the stars were brighter that night he spent with her, that fireworks lit in his dreams, that he thought he was in love with her. He couldn't do that, though. It was common knowledge that you never let yourself fall in love with a woman who sells herself...or a stripper...either one.

So, naturally, he ignored that common knowledge and went to the theatre to see her again. The women were rehearsing a dance number. The first one he spotted was Joey, who was sitting in the audience, watching Jasmine and the other girls. Joey saw him walking down the aisle.

"I heard you had a good night last night," he replied with a wink.

"Where's Sophia?" he asked immediately. Joey only pointed to the stage. The girls stopped their rehearsal for a break and Sophie went to the apron of the stage to get a glass of water. That was when she spotted Tony. She smiled and jumped off the stage and walked to him.

"You had a good night, yes?" she asked. Tony nodded.

"Actually, I came to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me later, and maybe a walk in the park...you know...a non-sexual date?" he asked it in that way, so that she didn't think he just wanted more sex. She grinned and nodded. "Has anyone ever told you not to fall in love with anyone who sells—"

"But you nevah sold you'se 'self to me. I nevah paid," explained Anthony, but Sophia put her finger her mouth and scorned,

"Hush! You could get me in trouble!"

Anthony followed her into her dressing room where she hid behind a curtain to put something more modest on. Then, she came out and saw Anthony was standing there, and gasped.

"_Anthony..."_

"Sophia, I love you," he said, practically drooling. She grinned and winked.

"After last night, why am I not surprised?"

"I'm bein' serious," said Anthony, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Me too. Tony, I can't fall in love...not with you, or anyone else," Sophia explained with sad eyes. She melted when she looked into his own disappointed eyes. _I can't fall in love._

"Why?"

"My job is to do what we did together last night," she explained.

"I didn't pay you. That was our choice _togethah_," he explained, inching closer to her and grabbing her shoulders. "Don't tell me dat was a job to be done. I. Did. Not. _Pay_. You."

"Tony–"she started, but headed toward a door.

"I love you!" he yelled as they walked out of the back door of the theater. She shook her head and turned to him.

"How many times do I have to tell you?"

"And how many times do I have to _tell you_? You don't have to do dis anymore. You can have a real job. Den you c'n love me, yeah?"

"No!" she said, pulling her black gloves on and straightening her hat before stepping into a carriage. Race followed her in,"Sheepshead Races, please."

"Sheepshead?"

"I _am _quitting, Anthony."

"You are?"

"Yes. Yes, and I'm marrying a jock that frequently races there. You may know him. He's famous. Jerry," she explained. The mention of Jerry really caught Anthony's attention. It couldn't be the Jerry he knew as a newsie? Could it? "Race, I can't marry a humble barber, such as yourself."

"You're marrying someone?" Race asked, in dismay. "How does he feel about your current occupation?"

"He doesn't know," she said with a frown, then she looked at him, seriously, "and he never will."

"Why?"

"Isn't it a little too obvious to question?"

"No, I mean why him?"

"He's rich," she explained, simply. Race, sighed, but a moment later, as if to proclaim his lust for her, he kissed her neck, and she sighed, contented. She turned her face, suddenly, so that his eager lips met hers. The kiss was long and passionate.

"You don't love him," Tony predicted her thoughts, once they broke the kiss.

"You don't understand—"

"But I do! I do! You need him for money. You think there's no one else to turn to but there is! Don't you see? Turn to me!"

"Anthony! Darling, it was one night! One night! You can't fall in love in a single night," she replied before the carriage stopped.

Anthony protested as she stepped out of the carriage, "Love at first sight–"

"–Of which I do not believe," she finished, leaving him at the carriage and not turning back.

"You'se love me, and you know it!" he called out to her, but she never heard this last reply.

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Anthony moped around for the rest of the day. He truly believed he was in love with Sophia, but she didn't love him. He was having some difficulty accepting this fact. After five hours of being awake and there was still no action going on in the day, he decided to visit his favorite childhood hangout. Sheepshead. He hailed a coach. He pre-paid the coachman and sat in the carriage all the way to Sheepshead.

Once he stepped out, the fumes of horse crap, manure, and mud filled his nostrils. Ah...the memories. The bleachers were practically empty with the exception of one young kid. He sat on the bleachers with two newspapers lying next to him and a cigar in his hand. He was watching a jockey train his horse. Anthony took a seat next to the kid and took out a cigar of his own.

"Got a light?" he asked the kid sitting beside him. The kid nodded and took out a box of matches from his pocket He handed it to Tony, but never made eye contact even once with him. Anthony took out a match and lit it on the bottom of his shoe. "How much for da papes?"

"One cent per pape," the kid answered, still not making eye contact with Anthony, but instead, keeping focused on the jockey and his horse ahead. Race nodded and took out five cents from his pocket.

"I'll buy both. You c'n keep da change, kid," he replied. This was when the boy finally made eye contact with him. A faint smile flicked across his face as he accepted the change with a ,"thanks," but it disappeared once more once his head turned again. Race took the papers and skimmed through one of them.

"I was a newsie when I was your age."

The boy didn't reply.

"I was paht of da strike."

Still no reply.

"Ever heard of Racetrack Higgins?"

"Yeah," said the kid, "Lemme guess...dat's you."

"Uh...yeah."

"So, you're the famous outlaw," he replied, refraining from making eye contact with Anthony again.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, so was me dad. I hope your kids are proud of you _now_, 'cause when your dead, they won't be,"said the kid.

"Good t'ing I don' have kids den, ay?" Tony snorted. He chuckled at himself. He did sympathize with this kid though.

Tony, getting bored with the unsociable boy, walked up to the fence that separated the bleachers from the track, and called as he did when he was a newsie, to his jockey friend.

"Heya, Jerry! Wanna papah!"

"Racetrack!" the jockey called back in disbelief. He trotted his horse over to the fence.

"You know each other?" asked the young newsie. Race nodded.

"I see you two have met. What do you think of the famous outlaw, Muggy?" asked Jerry who finally made his way to the fence. Race turned from Jerry to take a quick glance at the young newsie, then looked back at Jerry.

"Not a very tawkative one, is he?" he asked. Jerry shook his head, and accepted the paper that Tony handed him.

"What brings you here, Racetrack?" asked Jerry, skimming through the newspaper while his horse munched on weeds and grass.

"I go by Tony, now, Jerry. Business. I'm here for business."

Jerry glanced up for a second, concerned, but checked himself and steered his focus back to the newspaper, knowing the Racetrack he knew wouldn't like him being concerned.

"And for a funeral. Mr. Jacobs was killed," Tony added.

"Mr. Jacobs? Wow."

"Yeah. Diaz killed him. Mr. Jacobs apparently accidentally got himself associated with him."

"Yeah, that was in the paper. You're wanted, you know."

"Yeah. I was s'posed to keep a low profile when I came here, but it doesn't seem to be working. Some of my friends saw me. Jack'll turn me in, pro'lly. If he don't, den Davey-boy will," he replied. Jerry only nodded, knowing this could be true.

"On the up side, I hear you're getting married," said Tony, changing the subject.

"Yeah," replied Jerry, gleaming with pride.

"Yeah, well, congrats...I gotta go. Nice seein' ya, Jerry," Tony said quickly, before making a run for it. You see, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something he didn't like. A group of policemen with David Jacobs leading the way.

Tony ran as fast as he could. He hitched a ride behind a coach, the way he used to when he couldn't afford one. He jumped of when it got to the Brooklyn Bridge. He walked some length of the bridge before hailing down a coach and riding comfortably in the back. He lit up a cigar and directed the coachman to where he was staying in Manhattan.

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He went up to his room and plopped down on the bed, sighing as deeply as he could without hurting his rib-cage. He was still achy from the beating he took a few days back. It wasn't long before Joey and Jasmine walked in. He sat up and looked at Joey, straight in the eye.

"You and me. We gotta go. They're hot on our tail. They'll find out we're here," was all he said. The boys just took their suitcases and made sure they had all their money and clothes and climbed out the window so they didn't have to check out. That way, Jack and the police thought they still resided there. Jasmine refused to go with them. She didn't work with Frankie, so she didn't have to worry about police.

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Joey and Anthony ran through the back alleys and caught a carriage only after an hour of running. Once in the carriage they directed the coachman to bring them to the nearest train station. The ride wasn't that long. Once at the train station, they got a one way ticket to New Jersey. They had an hour wait before the next train arrived, but that was okay. It would be okay for a while, they thought.

Tony didn't like the train station. It was dry and dusty and made him cough. He never could handle dust very well. At least no one was there and they had the station to themselves, at least for the time being. They sat on a bench outside the station, awaiting the train.

Suddenly, a thick, burly voice called out to the boys.

"Hey, hey, hey! What have we got here? Is it not my best boys? Anthony and Joey. How are you guys?" asked Diaz. The boys mumbled their "I'm fines" and "just alrights" to him, indicating to him that something was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong, sir," replied Joey.

"Nothing?"

"Nothin', sir," said Tony, sharply. Frankie caught his tone and smacked the back of his head. Tony didn't even grimace. He just stood as calmly as he could and looked up into Frankie's eyes. "I owe you something, Frankie."

"Tony..."

"Shut up, Joey!" he shouted...then more calmly, "before someone hears us. Mr. Diaz wouldn't like that, would you sir?"

Tony moved in closer, looking more menacing with each step. Then, suddenly, his expression transformed into a smile and he opened his arms for a hug. Frankie smiled and accepted. Before they closed in on each other, Tony quickly reached into his vest pocket for a switchblade. Just as the space between them closed, Frankie's body closed in onto the knife. He gasped in pain, and as Tony pulled away, thrusting the knife back out of Frankie's stomach, he was able to see the shock on his former boss's face.

"Dat was foah me faddah, and for Mr. Jacobs," Tony said, emotionlessly. He watched as Frankie's knees gave way and he finally crumpled to the ground. Once one the ground, Tony lifted the knife once more and stabbed him into the heart. Then, as if this sort of thing happened every day, he took out a handkerchief from Joey's jacket pocket, and wiped off the blood stained knife, folded the knife back together, and put it in his vest pocket. He nodded to Joey who knew what to do. First, he stuffed the bloody hankie into Frankie's pocket, then dragged Frankie's body into the railroad. Both of the boys peaked inside the station while remaining on the outside platform. It seemed that the one person that was there, had fainted. They wondered if he would even remember what happened. No matter, the train was to be there soon and this would all be in the past. Tony finally avenged his father's death.

But was that enough?

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An hour later, the train arrived, running over Frankie's body. Apparently no one even noticed, because everyone on the train remained calm. The boys handed their first class tickets to the train's attendant and they were led to their seats.

Tony changed his blood stained clothes before the train arrived, knowing he had more than enough time, then tied up the man in the station, just in case he woke up.

Once they got on the train, Joey was noticeably shaken. He never killed someone in his life, and, although he knew Anthony had killed someone...maybe even a few people, he didn't know, he never saw or heard of him killing someone in cold blood. Not like that.

Tony gave him a reassuring glance once they were seated.

"It had to be done," was all Tony said for the whole Train ride.

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_**Mob Boss and Murderer Finally Found...And Killed.**_

_Mob boss, Frankie Diaz, was found yesterday. His mutilated body was found, lying across the train tracks in Manhattan. It looks like he was dead before the train ran over him. From what doctors could tell, he was stabbed twice. Once in the stomach once in the chest._

_The suspects of murdering the mob boss are Anthony Higgins and Joey Donahue. Reason for suspicions? A single handkercheif, covered in blood with the initials J.D. on it. It is commonly known that Anthony Higgins and Joey Donahue are partners in crime, although Donahue has never once been suspected for murder. Higgins, on the other hand, is suspected for one murder crime. This would make two. If anyone hears or sees anything about these two hooligans, please notify the local police. _

**Printed for _The Sun_**.

**Journalist: Brian Denton**

I'm sorry it took so long to update.

I hope this was a good chapter...if not, I apologize.

I think the next chapter might be the last, but that's not a definite guarantee.


	12. Partners In Crime

Chapter 12:

I proof read it 10/30/06

Thank you to those who reviewed

**Crazytook:** Thank you for the generous compliments. I know, Racetrack's going crazy! Thank you for reading this story!

**Sunshine and Air**: I like your pen name, by the way. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm glad that you "lurved it"! I'm here to please

To everyone else: Thank you to those who are reading. Please feel free to criticize. Criticism is good, especially for a writer. Also feel free to make suggestions.

Thank you all! Until next chapter...bye!

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Joey and Anthony arrived in New Jersey by train. Joey was still shocked by the actions that just took place. He never killed anyone in his life. Stole, beaten, swindled, but never murdered. He was beginning to wonder if Anthony was telling the truth when he said his previous act of murder was actually committed in self defense. Whether or not he was telling the truth, Tony knew no one would believe him... especially now. Now, he had two murder crimes on his hands.

Once the train stopped and they stepped off, Anthony took out a cigar and lit it quite calmly.

"What do we do now?" asked Joey. Tony turned his head to his friend.

"I don't know," he replied, honestly. This wasn't the answer Joey wanted or expected. Tony usually had a plan. If he didn't, Joey did. Now, neither of them knew what to do. They murdered their boss. He deserved it, yes, but they would be _wanted_ by the government for killing him, nonetheless. Revenge isn't an accepted excuse for murder in this society.

"I need to t'ink," Tony announced, after a few minutes. The two men strolled into town and got lunch from a local luncheon. Tony sat in a booth and rested his elbow on the table while leaning his head in his hand, and thought. He didn't order anything; he wasn't hungry. Joey ordered a beef stew. Both of the boys were starting to grow a stubble and they both had dark circles under their eyes.

"See dat bank?"Tony said suddenly, pointing across the street to a large building. Joey nodded. Tony continued in a hushed tone, "We're running low on dough. We need ta rob it."

"Didn't you get enough crimes for one twenty four hour period?"

"We need moah money."

"Fine," he said.

"Tonight. At nine. That's when we'll do it. Try to find something to cover your face with. Put powder in your hair, make it look grey. I don't want them to get our full identity. Let them think we're old men. Whatever. Just try to disguise yourself good," Tony ordered.

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That night, Tony got themselves some theatrical grey beards and eyebrows. They bought hats and powdered their hair, rubbing in grease as well, so that the powder didn't come off as well. Race had a bowler hat and Joey had a cowboy one. They both stole plaid shirts from a clothes line. All of these things they wore on top of their normal clothes. This was so that after they rob the bank, they could quickly discard their clothes and run.

Tony stole two horses for the both of them and they rode to the bank and burst in. People didn't see the two famous outlaws. They saw two drunken old men. Of course, Tony and Joey _never_ performed a planned crime drunk, but nobody knew that. It was important to perform crimes with the utmost consideration and delicacy; so, all their crimes were done sober.

Once they made their way to the teller, they pulled out their guns and ordered everyone to get down and told the teller to give them two thousand dollars or they'll shoot. Once they received the money, they ran out a secret door in the back that they knew was their from a previous robbery. Of course, when they robbed this bank two years ago, they robbed it as Joey and Tony. Right now, the two "old" men ran out a back escape, by climbing over the teller's desk and waving their guns in the air. Joey held the money closely to his chest. They made their way to the basement of the bank. By that time, a policeman had barged into the bank, and the teller told him that the two thieves were headed for the basement. Tony searched quickly for the secret door. It was an opening in one of the stone walls. He just had to find a very large, loose stone. He found it within 40 seconds and rolled it away. He let Joey crawl in first, because he had the money. Tony followed quickly. He tried to roll the stone back in place, the best he could and pull it in , back in place. Then, he crawled the tunnel, that would lead to the basement of a train station. Tony knew this, because he built the tunnel himself. It took him a whole year, but no one knew about the tunnel except for Tony, Joey, Diaz (who was now deceased), and another one of Diaz's men, who helped Tony build the tunnel. The other man's name was Alex Sawyer. He was killed in the process of the robbery. Diaz didn't accompany them, of course, because his only job was to boss them around and carry out all the orders.

As of right now, there was a twist in the tunnel. Tony and Joey rounded the twist, and once they rounded it, they stripped off their plaid shirts, revealing white linen shirts under them and they pulled the suspenders over them. They took off their beards and hats and decided they would wash out the powder in their hair in the creek that was by the station. It was also decided that they would not be taking the train. They would travel by boat. There was a river called the Hackensack near by and they would be taking that route. They had a long way to go, but that was okay. The more they traveled down the tunnel, the more dirty they got. Joey had stuffed the money in his pants, in between where the left suspender was clipped on his pants, and his body. They had nothing with them but the clothes on their backs and they money that Joey stuffed in his pants. He made sure the sack the money was in tied tightly. They traveled in the tunnel for two hours before they entered the basement of the train station. Tony pushed away a stone, hoping no one was on the other side, and he and Joey got out. They brushed off some of the dirt on their clothes and rolled the stone back. They snuck out through a dirty window in the basement. The window was just an opening, really. They supposed that when the station closed up, they would put a block of wood in its place so no thieves like them could enter in.

The window they climbed out of was facing the back of the station, where, hopefully, no one would notice them. The creek wasn't exactly right next to the station and they had to travel about a mile and a half to get to it. Once there, they took of their shoes and stuffed the bag into one of Joey's big boots. Then they leaped right into the creek. They air was cool as it always was in the night, and so was the creek. It took them a really long time to wash all the powder and grease out. It would have been hard, anyway, even with soap, but they would rather they had soap, than just their bare hands. Every once in a while, one of them would stop and look at the other and say,"Did I get all of it out, yet?"

"No. How 'bout me?"

"Nah, not yet."

Once they were both clean and powderless, they climbed out of the creak and retrieved their shoes and the money, then waded back across to the other side, where there was a forest. They traveled through the forest for five miles. They got lost twice, so it was more like seven miles, but they finally made their way out of the forest. By this time, they weren't soaking wet, anymore, just fairly damp. They had to travel another four miles to get to the Hackensack. By the time they got there, they were both very tired. They snuck onto a steam boat and were able to stay on the part were all the cargo was kept. You'd think that with all the money they had, they could buy a ticket, but they were afraid of being recognized. Two days later, the ship stopped in a city in Massachusetts. Boston. They arrived in the Boston Harbor. That was good enough for the both of them, and they opened the window in the cargo room and they both jumped out, Joey held tightly onto the money in the bag as they swam ashore. They swam under a dock and waited, till they thought no one was watching and climbed out. Of course, a few people were watching and Tony explained that some money that they had won in a contest had fallen into the harbor.

"We dived in to get it and we got it! T'anks foah youse concern ladies and gen'lmen," Tony had said to drive off the attention. Later, Tony and Joey laughed about the "contest money". They were left alone after that. They sat on a bench over looking the harbor and waited until they were dry. They hadn't eaten at all in two days and they both felt very weak and hungry. Sooner than later, two young men fell asleep on the benches. By the time they woke up it was no longer day, but they were dry. They decided to grab something small to eat, find a hotel and get washed, then get a full meal (which they really needed, of course) and then go back to the hotel and get some more sleep. This was exactly what they did.

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The next day, Tony and Joey got their money and checked out of the hotel. They went to the Boston train station and bought two one way tickets to Canada. Thirty minutes later, a train arrived and they boarded it. They were both still exhausted from all the activity and fell asleep on the train.

It took a while, but soon they arrived in Quebec, Canada. Tony couldn't speak French, which was the common language there, but Joey could and the first thing they did when they got there was get food. Then they checked into a boarding house and got some temporary jobs as factory workers. They bought some clothes because they left all their own clothes miles and miles and miles away from where they were at the moment.

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After two weeks they still weren't found, but they got bored where they were and quit their job, retrieved their two week's pay, and left. They hired a coach to take them to a port. They arrived at the port and got tickets and the ship was to take them to the other side of Quebec and they were going to take another train to Sudbury, Ontario. They stayed there for a week, but after robbing a tailor shop without a disguise (they figured it was okay, because apparently they weren't as famous in Canada as they were in the U.S.), they left and ran by foot, carrying all there stuff with them. They made it successfully through a forest. They were being followed, but they lost those who trailed them. They arrived in a town outside of Sudbury and stole two horses and galloped for miles and miles until they came to a clearing. They were in the middle of no where, and they really didn't know where they were , so, they decided to camp out for the night. In the morning they started off again. After four days, living just on fish, because they were traveling along what they assumed was one of the Great Lakes, They got bored and chose a different trail, which led them north west. Then, they lived on rabbit for a while, which they shot with their guns. After a few more days they arrived at another train station, and abandoned their horses to hitch a ride on one of the cars, that really didn't carry anything except hay, which would be good for hiding under, if needed. This train took them to Winnipeg, where they snuck off. They finally abandoned their new clothes and just took what was left of their original two thousand dollars. They stole another two horses and rode for a week, into Minnesota.

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They were on the border between Canada and Minnesota where they stopped at a hotel. Tony plopped down on the bed in the room which they rented for the night.

"I don't know about you, Joey, but I'm exhausted," sighed Tony.

"Anthony, when are we going to rest?" asked Joey sinking in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Why? You don't like all dis runnin' around?" Tony said, sarcastically.

"Tony, I'm serious. I'm sorry, but I liked it _better_ working for Diaz. I'm not made for adventure like this. I'm made for small town thievery. Not stealing horses, hitching illegal rides on boats and trains, and killing people. I mean, self defense is one thing, but murder? I mean, we go from doing small jobs for Diaz and now we're big time. I don't like it," explained Joey. Tony shuddered at what he just heard.

"Joey, we were big time _befoah_ all dis happened," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah, but really we were only small town thieves and swindlers. I never stole horses before this. We're going to be hung if we get caught. Its straight to death row for us, Tony. Tony, I think we should go our separate ways. It will be easier for us to run, then," stated Joey, sternly. Tony pondered what he just heard for a few minutes and hesitated before speaking again. Joey wasn't looking at him in the eye. He was staring at the floor. Figures. For the first time Tony realized that Joey was afraid of him. He didn't like that feeling...being a subject of fear.

"What-What about da money?" asked Tony.

"Keep it. I'll get by," replied Joey. Tony shook his head in disagreement.

"We need each uddah. We'ah pahtners in crime. We always do our crimes togeddah. It won't be da same," Tony argued.

"I just can't do it, Tony."

Time went by silently for a few minutes. Finally Tony spoke.

"We still have about $1,500 left. At least take half of it," Tony offered.

"No," his friend replied.

"Five hundred," he urged.

"No."

"Yes!" yelled Tony, taking five hundred dollars out of the pouch and shoving it in Joey's hands. "Take it!"

Joey looked down at the money. He swallowed hard, feeling guilty for leaving his friend.

"Go."

Joey looked up at his friend. Tony nodded toward the door.

"Be careful," Joey said, his English accent ringing with concern.

"You too, Joe."

And that was all Tony ever saw of Joey.

Alive.

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Tony, within the next month, arrived in Nevada. He took up a job in a Casino and stayed there for about six or seven months. On his twenty fifth birthday, he decided he wanted to go to New York. It was a suicide vacation, he knew, but he would use the trip as a vacation nonetheless. He planned on betting at Sheepshead and maybe paying Blink a visit. Of course that visit would be spent outside of the building looking in through a window, sitting on a fire escape, but it would be a pleasant one.

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When Tony arrived in New York, he had grown a full beard and wore cowboy apparel that seemed out of place in the big city. However, the good thing was that no one recognized him...

...or no one really held an interest even to try to recognize him. He even walked past someone he thought looked like Mush in the street and he didn't look twice at him. It was probably just as well. He knew someone like Mush. No matter how good a friend he was, always did the right thing. Even if that meant turning an old friend into jail, probably. He would most likely use the excuse that it was for "your own good".

Tony contemplated shaving his beared. He didn't really like it, but he thought it was best that he kept it. He didn't bother to by new clothes and try to fit in more with the people in the city. He thought it best that he looked somewhat awkward in the big city. He _did_ actually feel awkward, anyway. He hadn't been in New York for a while. However, after a few days it was like he had never left. He fell back into the flow of things, that is.

He told people who asked that his name was Jaime West. He said he was looking for a job in New York. He was soon given a job as a distributer. His job would be to distribute the papers to the Brooklyn Newsies. It was like Weasel's old job. He kind of liked the job. He got to see the kids and see how they behaved and how they reminded him of himself when he was their age. He would smile and chuckle to himself.

The prices raised a little. He was a bit sad about that. They say there had been a series of little strikes since he left Manhattan. It was true. Pulitzer won almost every time, though. No one could pull off the strike that the newsies did back in 1899. Everyone knew that. To do that you would have to have another Jack, Blink, Race, and Spot, and all the other newsies associated with a strike. That's not to say that no one would ever pull a strike off...no...its just that no one would pull one off quite like the one that they did.

After about four weeks...toward the end of the month, Race quit the job. He quite and moved up to the Bronx where he finally bought a new set of clothes and shaved his beard and had his long, shaggy hair cut. Race spent two months in the Bronx in very low-key conditions. It was more dangerous that he now looked more like his two-year-old wanted poster (minus the mustache), so, he couldn't take chances of someone recognizing him. He rarely went out during the day time, and if he did, he kept his hat low. He wasn't working, simply because he didn't feel like it, but he was spending a lot of his money during those two months. He spent most of it on liquor and girls. He bought things for all his night time girl friends. Jewelry, dresses, cosmetics, perfume, hair combs, and to one, he even bought a ticket for ship to sail her to France for her to pursue her dream of becoming an actress in the French theatre. Within those two months, he finally ran out of money to pay for boarding in the boarding house he was staying at. He was eventually kicked out into the streets. Tony made his way, mostly on foot, to Manhattan. He had very little money and a sack filled with his clothes and other belongings. He kept his money in a wallet inside a checkered vest pocket. He paid for one night in a hotel, because he wasn't planning on staying more than that. He was planning on robbing the biggest bank in Manhattan.

The next day was spent mostly planning on what he was going to do once he got to the bank. Finally he got so frustrated, he threw away all his plans and stormed out of the building with his belongings, checking out around ten at night.

He ditched all his belongings with the exception of his gun and his money and he made his way, casually, into the bank. He got in and walked up to the teller, as he always did when robbing a bank, and took his gun out, turned around, pointed the gun at everybody in the building and told them to get down. Because he didn't plan anything out, and he surprisingly never robbed this bank before, he had to improvise from here on out. He turned back to the bank teller and ordered him to get a sack and put three thousand dollars in it. People gasped when they heard the amount. Some women who were in the bank at this awful hour of the night, were crying. Tony grabbed the sack out of the teller's hands and counted the money very quickly. It looked about right, so he prepared to leave. He ordered everyone to close their eyes as he looked for a back door. He couldn't find any. Finally someone burst into the building through the front door. A policeman. Tony pointed the gun in his direction.

"Get down!" he ordered.

"What's going on, Mark?" the police man asked the teller.

"Shut up, bastahd!" Tony yelled. "I haven't fired a bullet yet, but you uttah one moah word and da first bullet will be in your skull!"

Tony looked through the blinds that were covering the windows. Another policeman was making his way to the building. He looked strangely familiar. He was dressed in blue uniform like every other bull, but there was something different about this one. Not only did he look familiar in feature, but his apparel looked somewhat familiar. He carried a cane with a gold tip, and there was a familiar twinkle in his eye, and something glittering around his neck. A key. It was Spot...

...Spot? A bull? Hell must have frozen over that day.

Tony just stood there in shock. While he seemed deeply distracted as he stared out the window at the figure coming into the building, the teller had time to get a small gun out from a drawer in his desk and point it in Tony's direction.

"Drop it, sir," yelled the teller, nervously from across the room. Tony turned around, shocked. Tony just lifted his gun as the teller fumbled for the trigger and shot. The bullet hit the teller in the left shoulder. This delayed everyone enough for Tony to climb straight out the window. By this time Spot was inside the building and had just missed him jump out a window that was twenty feet from the ground.

Tony landed with a thud and a yelp of pain.

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I updated as quickly as I could. Hope this chapter was as good as the last.


	13. UhOh, for lack of better words

Chapter 13:

**Revised (a few mistakes have been fixed).**

I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, but my computer crashed, and then there were some family issues...

...But I'm back!

I hope this chapter is enjoyable for ya'll!

I also decided to give a pronunciation key at the end of the chapter. I know my "accenting" can be confusing.

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Tony tried to pick himself up off the ground, but his leg gave way once again, and he landed on his stomach. Spot and the other policeman ran out and saw Tony writhing on the ground and onlookers began to gather around.

"There he is!" cried the other policeman.

"Thank you, Henry," Spot said, sarcastically. He walked over to the fallen criminal, observing that he was in obvious pain. As Spot edged closer and closer, he noticed the figure looked increasingly familiar.

"You weh da last person I thought would become a cop, Spot," replied the man on the ground.

"Racetrack?" Spot gasped

"Now simply known as Tony."

"Help the man up," ordered Spot, and he held the gun up straight for his old friend as he watched Henry arrest him. "Anthony Higgins, you are under arrest for...well, numerous crimes. You know your rights?"

"Yeah."

With that, Spot and Henry lead Tony into a carriage headed for the jailhouse. Tony sat between Spot and Henry, while the driver drove on. All was silent during that long fifteen minute drive. Tony was in pain, Spot could tell, so the only sentence he said to him was when he explained that a physician would examine his leg after he was first examined by the police.

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After the humiliating examination was over, Tony was given a uniform to wear and told that he could have a lawyer for his trial. Tony admitted he was interested. He waited in his cell until a doctor was called for.

An hour passed until the doctor arrived. After a ten minute examination, it was confirmed that he dislocated a bone in his ankle. The doctor, Doctor Brown, requested that he be brought to the hospital so an X-ray could be taken and a cast could be made. The chief of police agreed and sent three guards to accompany them. The hospital was fifteen minutes away, and Tony was rushed into the examination room. His ankle was x-rayed and it was revealed that he dislocated his ankle, _and_ had a hairline fracture in his tibia.

After a cast was made Tony was led out of the hospital. He was given a can and he limped out of the hospital. On the way out, he saw a fimiliar face come in with another, very pregnant familiar face. It was Jack and Sarah.

"Somebody help! My wife's havin' a baby!" yelled Jack. As Jack looked around for a doctor, Tony realized he stopped walking. He also realized it was very hard to lean on a can if your hands were cuffed together. He began to walk again, per "request" of the bulls, but fell. All attention was on him now, after he gave a groan of pain. The cops helped him up. As he got up, he saw that Sarah had been taken care of, and also that Jack's eyes were on him, now, as well as all the other people in the waiting room.

"Race?"

"**_Let's go_**," growled one of the bulls, tugging at Tony's arm. He would have almost tripped again, if it weren't for the bulls' arms grasping his own very tightly. After Tony got his bearings, one of the cops picked up his cane that was on the floor, and handed it to him. Tony didn't take another look toward Jack as he walked out . He knew that may be the last time he would see his old friend outside of a jail cell or a court room.

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The next day, Tony met with his lawyer and sat with him most of the day, discussing and planning. They seemed like they had a pretty good case, but Tony and his lawyer both knew they wouldn't win.

When visiting hours came around, Tony wasn't expected to be called in to his own private room to see his visitor. In fact, he didn't expect to have a visitor. The truth was, normally the visiting room consisted of sixteen tables with one cop supervising every two tables. There was one chair on each side of the table. One was for the prisoner and the other for the visitor.

Tony figured that he got his own _private_ room because of his "inside man", Spot. Tony was accompanied to the room by a cop and pushed in before the door was locked behind him. Because his leg was still in pain and unsteady, he fell to the ground. Tony wasn't sure if his visitor was in the room yet, but he didn't care. The pain was shooting up from his ankle into his thighs. He heard footsteps rush toward him, and felt big hands around his arms, trying to lift him up. When Tony finally lifted his head up to see his visitor, he saw an older version of his friend Dutchy.

"You're thin, Race. Too thin," he commented, as he led Tony to a chair. Dutchy took the other one, on the other side of the small, square table.

"Yeah, well," was Tony's only reply.

"How are ya?"

"What kinda dumb question is dat?"

"Hmm?"

"How are ya? How are ya, Racetrack? Not very good, thank you. Oh, that's too bad. That's how your going to start the conversation, Dutch? How are ya?

It's Tony by the way. I ditched the name, Racetrack, years ago."

Tony leaned his head against his hand, and rested his elbow on the table.

"Sorry, Tony. The boys will be asking about you when I get back, s'all," replied Dutchy, taking his glasses off to clean them with the sleeve of his shirt. He put them back on when he was finished.

"Well...not too good. We don't have a private...facility, so when I gotta take a dump, its done in public. We only get two meals a day. A loaf of bread and water in the mornings, and a loaf and some milk in da evenings. I don't have a comb and my hair feels greasy. My only paih of clothes has dirt and holes all ovah, and da trial stahts the day after tomorrow, so that's what I'll be wearing," Tony explained.

"Oh. Well, since your only allowed one visitor a day, the boys and I decided to take shifts. Tomorrow Blink'll be coming. I'll tell him to bring some clothes for you."

"Thanks," Tony mumbled. "Jack's new baby, was it a boy or a girl?"

"How'd you know he–"

"_I know all_. Answer the question."

"A girl," replied Dutchy.

"Good for him. Tell him I...nevah mind."

"Just tell me somethin' why'd ya do it?"

Just when Tony was about to answer, the cop came in and grabbed Race by his left arm. "Say 'good-bye' Higgins," said the cop.

"Bye Dutchy."

"Bye Tony."

"Dutch..."

"Yeah?"

"We weh good friends," replied Tony, as if it was a question.

"Yeah, Race. We were. The best of friends," Dutchy answered, with a sad smile. Tony dismissed the fact that he called him "Race" and smiled back.

"_C'mon!_ Let's go!" the cop admonished. He cave a firm jerk on Tony's arm which madeTony stumbled toward the door.

Dutchy exited behind him, shuffling his feet as he often did as a child when he was dreading something.

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The next day was a long one. Tony met again with his lawyer and they talked for long hours about the trial and what would probably happen, and how they would handle a situation if a certain question was likely to be asked. Then, after all this was over, Tony talked his lawyer into a game of five hundred rummy, since he didn't have anything to gamble in a game of poker.

After the game was over, a bull came in to notify Tony that it was time to get some exercise. It was like school. The prisoners had recess. Tony went outside to stretch his legs and saw a familiar face pass by the wire fence. It was Jerry. Tony yelled his name. Jerry didn't respond. He yelled louder. Jerry looked up, with a surprised expression and walked over.

"What are you doing here? You finally got caught?"

"Yeah,"Tony said, quietly. "How's da wife?"

"Good, good."

"I loved her, you know."

"I didn't know you knew her."

"Yeah, yeah, I did. It don't mattah now. Jus'...jus' tell her I said hi. Don't tell her you saw me here...although I'm sure it said something about me in da papahs. Haven't you been readin?"

"I will tell her you said hi when I write to her. You see, Tony, she's in London. I just arrived here today to buy a horse. I'll be returning home next week. She and I live there now that I retired. She's a mama now. We have a little boy," explained Jerry. "So, no, I haven't seen the papers."

"Oh. Wow."

"Yeah."

A loud whistle interrupted their conversation.

"Dat's for me. Gotta go. Take care, pal. Listen, Jerry, take care of my girl. Promise," Tony said, sternly.

"I promise," Jerry said.

Thanks.

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Tony didn't eat dinner that night, and Blink didn't come to visit. Race laid in his cot, unable to sleep, all night. He asked himself why he lived the way he lived a hundred times over.

"Hey Higgins," a kind-faced guard whispered. Tony walked over to the barred door. A hand came through the bars, holding a letter. Tony took it.

"T'anks," he said.

"Don't mention it," said the guard. Race walked back to the cot and stood on it, so he could lean on the windowsill of the barred window. He wanted to read by the moonlight, since there was no other light in the cell.

_Tony,_

_I was told to inform you that your friend Joey has been killed while attempting a robbery at a bank in California. His girlfriend, her name unknown, was killed as well. He asked me to let you know if anything ever happened to him._

Tony never knew who sent him the letter. Tears slid down his face, not only grieving for his friend, but suddenly scared. You see, Tony finally realized he was going to die. He really was going to die. He shared a similar fate that Joey suffered. Death. He was going to die. The only differences were, He wasn't going to die on the cold floor of a bank, and he was going to die alone. He was never going to have a chance to share a love with a woman and he was never going to share a love with _the _woman. The woman that Jerry took away from him. However, he found that he couldn't hate Jerry for it. He was just upset with himself.

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The next day, Tony was forced to wear his dirty clothes to the trial. People stared as he walked, shamefully, to the defense stand. The trial began with the pledge of allegiance. Then, the judge asked for his plea. Tony plead...

"Guilty."

"What!" exclaimed his lawyer.

"Sorry, but it is obvious dat I am guilty for every one a' my charges," Tony whispered to his lawyer.

"But I could have gotten you a lesser charge. Do you realize that?" his lawyer whispered back.

"Are you sure you don't want to change your plea?" asked the judge. The lawyer looked to Tony, who shook his head.

"No," said the lawyer.

"Then, in return for your honesty we will give you a lesser charge for your crimes. Instead of death, we will allow for a life in prison. Case closed," said the Judge. With that, the guards ushered Tony out of the courtroom, passing his old friends along the way. A look of sorrow for their friends etched across each of their faces. Even Jack's. Jack sat all the way in the back of the courtroom throughout the whole trial, so, exiting the room, he was easily seen. Tony only had to take one look at his friend to know that he was sad and ashamed. This made Tony mad, so he broke free of the cops' grasps and crawled through the isles of seats and passed the various shoes and boots, and screaming women, and all kinds of people saying "get that man". Once Tony cornered himself at a wall on the farthest end of the room, he searched for a window. He found one to his left and climbed over seats and people to get to it. People tried to grab at him, but he broke free of their grips and eventually got to the window. He climbed onto the window sill and kicked at the window with his feet to break the glass. He attempted the act which broke his leg in the first place. The only thing was, this window was a lot closer to the ground. He fell to the ground with a thud, but got right to his feet and suddenly realized he couldn't run or that far or that fast with a gimp leg. He felt like Crutchy trying to get away from the bulls all those years ago. Tony found a horse tied up to a post right outside of the courthouse and untied it. He climbed upon the horse and galloped as far as he could, through the streets of Manhattan. Suddenly, he felt a very strong pain in his shoulder. This pain shocked him, so he fell off the horse and onto the cobble stoned road of Manhattan. It wasn't long before two pairs of hands lifted him up to a standing position. Tony's head spun around and around until everything was black.

When Tony woke up, he was in a nice warm bed, but was strangely cold. He very soon felt a soft, damp object on his forehead and a figure in front of him. It was Sarah. She was dabbing his face with a wet cloth.

"Hello sleepyhead," she said with a smile. Tony grinned at the sight of her kind face. "David and Jack helped you off the street and pulled you into the back door of Medda's theatre. Medda went out to get some more blankets. A policeman shot you. You have a high fever. We thought it best that we don't get a doctor. David's going to try to get the bullet out himself. Okay?

Tony only nodded.

In a few minutes, David came in, with Jack following close behind. Jack laid a hand on his forehead. It was still warm. He only nodded. He observed that his former friend was in obvious pain and needed only _kind_ attention, so, for the time being, he would give him that sort of attention. Then, when he was feeling better, he would let him have it. Jack wasn't really sure what he wanted to do with Tony. Should he return him to the police. Should he help him run away. If he did, he knew it would be a doomed escape. After Jack settled himself at the foot of the bed, David and Sarah left the room to leave them alone.

"You've had quite an adventah dese past several years," replied Jack. Tony had no energy to say anything.

"We missed you," Jack continued. "We missed your card games and your stupid jokes."

This was when a tear began to fall down his thin cheeks. Another one soon followed.

"Why?" asked Jack, wanting answers. "Why did you have to go and be a criminal? Was it da money. Couldn't you have gotten an honest job he'ah in New Yo'ak. Maybe you could have come to Sante Fe with me and Sarah. Why did you have to go and be a criminal, Anthony? What would your father have said? Huh? How 'bout your mom? You'se a lousy lyin' bastahd, you know dat?"

Tony winced at Jack's ramblings.

"Stahted...(cough,wince)...stahted with...(groan) revenge...den...it...it got out'a control," Tony explained, briefly.

David came in, not long after that, with sharp instruments, and Medda with blankets. Sarah came back in and took off the bandage that they had previously applied on his wound. David, shanking and not really sure what to do, took the knife and opened the wound a little wider, while Jack and Medda held Race down. Tony screamed as the burning sensation spread throughout his body, even into his toes and fingers. Sarah folded a piece of cloth and put it in Tony's mouth to bite on. David used a very tiny baby-doll spoon to search for the bullet. When he found it, he scooped it and threw it out the window. Then, David quickly sewed up the wound and Sarah applied a bandage over it. David ran out of the room and was heard vomiting for the next two or three minutes. Race was as white as a ghost and just barely conscious. Medda removed the cloth from his mouth which hardly stifled his screams, but succeed in keeping him from biting his tongue.

"He's so thin," Medda replied, glancing at his torso, before covering it with the new blankets she got.

"We'll put some food in him," Sarah replied, helping Medda tuck him in.

"Jack, the police will be searching for him. We need to get him out of here," stated David, walking back into the room.

"We can't move him," said Jack.

"You're going to have to," David replied. "Bring him back to Sante Fe with you. Sarah will stay with me for the month. I'm going to get tickets for the two of you right now. I'll send Les to go with you. You'll have to leave tomorrow at the latest."

"Awright," Jack reluctantly agreed, taking a look at Tony, whose face matched the white sheets.

"Alright," David repeated, leaving once again.

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The next day, Les agreed to drive him to the station, but it would be Ryan, not Les, was to accompany Tony and Jack on the train ride to Santa Fe. They woke up at four in the morning. The train would depart at five. It was a perfect hour. Sarah and Medda kissed all the boys good bye. David shook Jack's hand, and laid a hand upon Tony's shoulder. He was unconscious, but began to stir at David's touch. His eyes slowly fluttered open.

"Jacobs," he muttered "Jacobs, your faddah was a good man. He was honorable and respectable. I killed da man who killed your faddah...and...and mine. Although he didn't physically kill him, himself, Diaz killed him all da same. I killed Diaz in turn. He deserved it. Your faddah and mine can rest...rest in peace now."

A moment of silence passed, and it was obvious that Tony was beginning to pass into darkness once more.

"Thank you, my friend," said David, sorrowfully.

The boys carried Tony out the back door of the theatre and into Les's new car. Cars weren't a big thing back then, and usually only the rich owned them. Les wasn't rich, but one of his friends was and he gave Les his car because he was getting a new one from his father in law for Christmas. Ryan sat in the back with Tony and Jack sat shotgun to Les. It was only a fifteen minute ride to the train station, but it seemed like forever. When they arrived, they laid Tony on a bench outside of the station and Jack sat with him. Ryan sat on another bench and waited for the train. Les and David said goodbye and left them there, waiting. It wasn't long before the train did arrive.

They boarded Tony onto the train with no problem and was even offered an extra seat so Tony could be laid down. They accepted and turned in their tickets when they were collected. It was going to be a long train ride, and Jack doubted Tony would make it. He could tell that his wound was getting infected and it was too close to the heart. Normally, maybe, someone could have held out longer, but the infection was spreading quickly and was very, very close to the heart. If the infection spread to the heart, Tony would die very soon. They wanted to get Tony safe first, then get a doctor. They kept on telling Tony that they should get a doctor, but tony kept saying, "No." He was obviously terrified that he would be caught. Would he? They didn't want to take a chance.

Their first stop to switch trains was in Ohio. By this time, Tony was totally sick and couldn't even walk. He was becoming delirious and talked to things that weren't there. They had to wait two hours to board the next train, and when they did, it was so crowded that they couldn't have an extra seat. Ryan sat with Tony, who leaned against him, and Jack sat with a stranger in the seat across. The booth seemed small and crowded, and the boys worried that Tony didn't have any breathing room. Luckily, though, the person seated next to Jack was a doctor. He couldn't stand looking at Tony suffer, and asked no questions, only to check him over to see what he could do. Jack agreed eagerly. The doctor picked and probed and opened up the messy bandage. He winced at the sight of the pussy, crusty, bloody mess. He cleaned it up with what was in his tiny medical bag, and checked it over. He stated the obvious to Jack and Blink. It was infected.

"I'm sorry my kind sirs, but...he's very sick. Very sick. Too sick to...fix. Maybe if we got him to a hospital on the next stop..."

"No. He doesn't want dat," said Jack.

"You do know how this got infected, right? I suppose it wasn't a doctor who took the bullet out, otherwise he would have detected this sooner," commented the doctor. The boys sat confused and slightly surprised at his knowledge that this was a bullet wound. I forgot to mention that this was a young doctor.

"What do you mean?" asked Ryan.

"The bullet was poisoned. Whoever shot, shot to kill," answered the young Doctor.

"Dr. Bronnius, he wasn't...it couldn't have been," Jack stuttered.

"Your young friend was running from someone, wasn't he?" asked Dr. Bronnius.

"Yes," they both answered, not so simultaneously.

"You should report this so they could catch the scoundrel who did this," said the Doctor.

"We will," lied Jack. "T'anks."

"I'll go get some water for the poor lad," replied the doctor, getting up and leaving the booth. Once he left, Ryan let out a growl of anger.

"Spot shot that bullet, Jack," Ryan explained. "Conlon shot dat bullet."

"I know."

"Why? How could he do dat? Isn't he supposed to be a man of the law?"

"No," they heard a very weak voice say.

"What?"

"I was surprised when I saw him that day in the bank. I didn't know it until I heard your conversation just now. It was common knowledge in Diaz's mob, dat if one of his employees k-killed him, den _dat_...(cough)...dat employee would have to be killed by another one of Diaz's employees. To kill them, they would poison a bullet with a drug...I forget what its called...and shoot da killah. This rule doesn't pertain to just anyone wh-who kills Diaz...just...just da people who work fo'ah him. If just anyone killed him, we could get ou'ah revenge anyway we want to. Spot worked fo'ah Diaz. He was appointed to kill me by da oddah membahs of da m-mob...OH Gahh----! DIS HURTS!"

"Bastahd!" Jack muttered.

"Why, Tony? Why did you do it?" asked Ryan.

"Revenge. Fo'ah my father. Fo'ah David's father, even. My plan was to work myself up to be Diaz's right hand man. I did. It worked. Not exactly–not exactly as I planned, but it did," explained Tony. "I'm s-sorry, Blink."

Ryan's head shot up at the sound of his old nickname. He gasped on the inside at the sight of tears rolling down the face of a young man who was thought to be cruel and hard-hearted by strangers who never knew him and even by old friends.

"I'm sorry to you too, Jack. I didn't want it to turn out like dis. It's best dat I die. It's best dat way. I can't...I can't live my life runnin'...always runnin'."

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I hate to leave you like this, but I'm going to have to.

Pronunciation key"

anything with an 'ing' in'

almost anything with an 'er' ah

outer outah

out of out a'

so of is usually _a'_

have to havta or hafta

got to gotta

going to gonna

forfo'ah

In this chapter I decided to write fo'ah instead of foah, because in my head, if I sea foah I would pronounce it with a hard o. as in Fo...but if I write fo'ah say it out loud really fast, it sounds like a New Yorkers for. I've done similar things with other words. I know I haven't covered everything, but if you really have trouble figuring out what a particular word is, let me know in your review and I'll tell you.

Also, I recommend reading the dialogue parts out loud (particularly if you're alone), not only because it makes it easier, but it's also fun!

Please feel free to follow through to the next chapter and tell me what you think.


	14. Santa Fe

Chapter 14:

revised (just corrected a few mistakes I came upon).

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When Ryan, Jack, and Tony arrived in Sante Fe, the evening sun shone exotically on the horizon. Jack carried Tony off the train. He sat him on a bench while Ryan tried to call a carriage to bring them to Jack's house. It only took a few minutes, but it wasn't long before a coach came. They loaded Tony in first, then Jack sat next to Tony, and Blink sat across from them. Jack's home was an hour from the station, and the coachman was willing to stop right in front of Jack's house. Jack and Ryan helped Tony out of the carriage.

They struggled to drag him into the house. Tony was coughing and gaging on his own blood. What really scared Ryan and Jack was when Tony would cough_ up_ blood. The wound continued to scab and puss up. Jack decided to go to the telegraph office to send a telegram to Sarah and notify her that they came safely home and that she should wait for a letter, shortly.

Ryan grew anxious as he waited for Jack to come back. It only took a half an hour, but it seemed like forever. He watched Tony twist and turn and shout out things that didn't make any sense what-so-ever. Tony would shout out names that even Ryan never knew. He would sweat, but shiver at the same time. Ryan covered Tony with blankets and rubbed him anxiously, trying to warm him up. Tony looked so cold that at one point Ryan thought he was turning blue. After about fifteen minutes of Jack's departure, Tony was no longer shouting out random names. He was too busy shivering and foaming around the mouth. When he began to foam around the mouth, Ryan took a rag and tried to clear his mouth of saliva and mucus.

_Damn Conlon! If he wanted to kill Race, why couldn't he just shoot him with a regular bullet! He had good enough aim!_

_Race_. Ryan called his friend "Racetrack" for so long, he kept on forgetting not to call him that anymore.

Amidst all the shivering and drooling, there was something in Tony's eyes that made Ryan think that he wanted to tell him something. Tony dragged his arm from under the blankets and grabbed onto Ryan's collar. He opened tell Ryan something, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he didn't get a chance.

"Why Racetrack?!" Ryan sobbed, sticking a finger under his eye-patch, as if expecting tears to fall out of an eye that wasn't there. After he finished rubbing it, he put his hand down on his lap, and let the tears flow out of his only eye. "We loved you! We coulda helped you! Why'd you hafta go 'n' be a criminal? You're so ...stupid! Stupid, dat's what you are! You wanted to kill Diaz? Da law coulda done dat...but nooo, you had to go 'n' do it yerself! You stupid, selfish bastard!"

Suddenly Ryan heard the door click. Jack was back. Ryan dried his eye and tried to compose himself as Jack walked in. He heard two pairs of steps instead of one.

"I wanted a second opinion, so I brought Doc Kellah," explained Jack as he walked in, and motioning a short man with a large, grey mustache and round spectacles, into the room. Doctor Keller waved his hand, silently telling Ryan to get off the bed, as he sat himself where Ryan had been. He fixed a stethoscope onto his head and checked Tony's heartbeat. He looked into his ears and mouth. Last of all, he examined the wound, causing an obviously conscious Tony great discomfort. He reapplied new bandages across Tony's chest, with the greatest care possible when he was done.

"I'm going to write a prescription for an antibiotic for the young man, that will hopefully decrease the pussing and lesson the swelling and the mass inside the body. You see, what the poison did was puncture a tissue and made it swell. That's why there's puss in his wound. The mass is also pushing against his heart. You see, it _would_ have still killed him if it was shot anywhere else in his body, but it would have been _a lot_ slower. What would happen would be the tissue mass would get so big, it would burst. The victim would bleed to death. Internally and externally. I'm supposing whoever did this to the poor young man, was actually doing him a favor. If he really wanted him to suffer, he would have shot him in the leg or the arm. By shooting him where he shot him, the mass is pushing against the heart. He would die a lot quicker this way. This is also causing him to cough up blood.

"This antibiotic I'm prescribing will decrease the mass a considerable amount. After that, I can operate. If I don't operate, eventually the antibiotic will lose its effect and the mass will start to grow again. If I operate I can remove the mass. The mass looks like a tumor, but doesn't exactly act much like one, to an extent. I have to remove the mass. Like I said, the mass is in a dangerous place. The operation can either save him...or kill him," explained Dr. Keller.

"Okay," replied Ryan," but what about the dosage? How much should he take , how often, and for how long?"

"The pills are little blueish green pills. He will take two, twice a day. One he will take as soon as he wakes up in the morning and then right about 9:00 every night. I'm giving you a time for the night so its easier. It doesn't matter what time he takes it in the morning, just so long as he takes it. It will be hard for him to swallow the pill, let alone eat and drink. Make sure that he does both. The swelling should decrease immediately. I will come at about twelve every day for three days. The third day decides if he should continue taking the pill and for how long, or if he is ready for surgery. If he is ready for surgery, it will take place on that day.

You will begin to see results immediately. He will stop pussing and bleeding as much as he is now. He will start to sleep easier. You will get the pills right away and start him on them at nine o'clock tonight–which is an hour from now. Tomorrow I will check on him at twelve. I'll check on him at twelve, the day after tomorrow. The day after that, remember, decides the operation. Got it? Any questions?"

"No. Thanks, Doc," said Jack, as Ryan put more blankets on their friend.

"Jack, you stay with Race. I'll follow the doctor into town on one of your horses. I should be back within the hour. Okay?"

"Go 'head, Ryan."

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When Ryan got home about 45 minutes later, he found Jack dabbing Tony's sweaty brow with a wet cloth. Tony was writhing around on the bed, and under different circumstances Ryan would probably laugh at Jack's desperate attempt to keep the cloth on Tony's face, while Tony kept twisting and turning on the bed. In fact, the only thing that kept him from laughing was the knowledge that Tony was in intense pain and was dangerously ill.

Jack looked up when he heard Ryan step in.

"You got da pills?" he asked. His voice was heavy with emotion.

"Yeah, I got 'em," said Ryan. Jack filled up a glass of water and Ryan took out two little bluish green pills out of a jar. Jack positioned himself behind Tony on the bed, so he could hold him up in a sitting position.

"Hey, Tony?" Ryan said in a hushed tone. "Tony..."

"Tony, we need you to wake up," said Jack.

"What..." Tony spoke after a while. His "what" was a very weak and barely audible one.

"We're gonna give you dese pills–"Ryan was interrupted by Tony shaking his head, awkwardly, because he couldn't keep his head up. "Yeah, Tony, we hafta give you dese–"

"No," Tony almost gagged out. "No, I ain't takin' no pills...I—I can't take no pills... Fire! Fire I'm...agh...my throat!"

"His throat hurts. Maybe we should wait," Ryan replied, concerned.

"It's nine o'clock. We ain't waitin' any longah," Jack said, sharply. Blink took the pills and put one in Tony's already open mouth. Jack immediately poured water into his mouth, the majority of which spilled out the sides of his lips. Ryan closed the young man's mouth and tilted his head back as the pill was forced down Tony's swollen throat. The same thing happened a second time.

After consuming both pills, with a lot of sputtering and fighting, and lots of cursing, Tony quickly fell asleep. Ryan and Jack agreed to watch Tony on rotation. Every two hours they would switch. One would watch while the other slept. Ryan was first to watch. Jack went into another room to write to Sarah. He was able to finish the letter within an hour. The other hour he spent waiting for it to be over. When he the hour was over, Ryan came to wake an-already-alert Jack. Jack, then went in to sit with Tony. Tony slept soundly, surprisingly, all night long.

When morning came, Tony woke up nice and early...screaming. Ryan was on watch at this moment and tried to calm him down. Jack, hearing Tony's screams, rushed in to see what was wrong. At first his screams weren't comprehensible, but in a moment, the desperate screams became very clear.

"Pop! Pop! Papa! Somebody please help me faddah! Pop! WAKE UP!"

The phrase "wake up" was screamed in such an agonizing way, with such anguish and pain, that Jack wanted to scream himself. The boys didn't know what to do. Tony was fully awake, but what he was seeing was from the past. He was seeing his father being murdered.

"PAPA!" was the second desperate scream. Jack couldn't stand it and took Tony into his secure arms, like any older brother would do for a younger brother if he was having a nightmare. Jack had done it for Ryan, when he was a little boy, many times. Jack had even held Ryan's hand after a bad dream. But God forbid anyone hugged or held Tony's hand after a nightmare. Tony would have socked him. _Racetrack_ would have socked him. The Tony they knew now was too weak to do anything. This was the first time Jack had comforted Tony after a horrible nightmare. Of course, Tony wasn't really conscious enough to realize that he was being held. He was still screaming for his father.

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The morning episode exhausted Tony to a point that he slept for the rest of the day, only waking up once in a while, when a surge of pain shot through his body from the wound. On those occasions, he would moan. If it was really bad, he'd give a yelp of surprise. Ryan and Jack tried to make sure that he didn't move around too much, so that his wound wouldn't open and start bleeding. Sometimes Tony would cry in his sleep. The tears would stream down his face. Jack wasn't sure if it was from a bad dream or the horrible pain he must be experiencing.

Ryan woke him up at nine o'clock P.M. to give him the pill. Tony had a hard time swallowing, but a few minutes after swallowing, he coughed up blood and he writhed on the bed. Ryan's theory was that the pill was causing more pain than doing any good.

After a few good minutes of coughing, gagging, and groaning, and coughing some more, Tony's eyes fluttered open. They were glazed and dull. Dead. His eyes were dead.

"Hey Blink," he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Yeah? What is it, Tony?"

"Tony?" Tony almost laughed, but he was too tired. "I ain't heard you call me dat foah years."

Ryan got it now. Tony was delusional again.

"What is it, Race?"

"Listen, I'm goin' down to Brooklyn tomorrah. You wannah come?"

Ryan straightened up in his chair, and continued to stare into Tony's dead eyes. They weren't looking directy at him, but at the wall behind him. Whatever Tony could see in his "dream" his face was were his eyes were directed. Apparently, the Blink he was seeing was quite a distance away.

"Sure. Sure, I'll go witcha, Race," Blink answered, remembering that day. It was one year before the strike,

1898...July Fourth...

...That was a hard day to forget.

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"_C'mon, Blink! You said you weh comin' to Brooklyn wit' me!" Race called from the washroom door. Blink was still in bed, at the far end of the room._

"_Youse guys ah gonna go to Brooklyn?" asked Mush._

"_Yeah, wanna come?" _

"_Nah, Race. I gotta sell papes on the cornah of 43rd street today. There's a lady dat buys biscuits there 'n if I fake a cold, she tips generously."_

"_Kay, Mush," Racetrack said with a bright smile and a wink. He continued to dry his face and waited until Blink finished washing up._

_They purchased their papes and hitched a buggy ride to Brooklyn, and only stopped at the bridge to yell across. They met up with Boots and Dutchy, who surprisingly got there before they did._

"_What're you guys doin' heah?" asked Race._

"_I spent the night at the lodging house there, and Dutchy had a lady friend he wanted to meet up with." _

"_Ooooh, a lady friend," sang Blink._

"_Aw, shut up, ya bum!" Dutchy replied, shyly. _

"_We should separate and sell our papes, now," Blink suggested_

"_Kay, let's meet up at the muffin stand outside of the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging Quarters. There's dis lady there and she lets the newsboys have da muffins two cents off the original price," said Boots._

"_Awright, what's de original price?" Race asked, shifting his papes to the other arm._

"_T'ree cents," Boots responded with a smile. _

"_Kay, lets meet up around twelve, den," proposed Racetrack._

"_Not all 'a us have pocket watches like you," said Dutchy._

"_And if we do, dey don't work," Blink added._

"_Well, dat's not my problem. Ask around for da time," Race, ordered, turning his back and continuing his walk off the bridge. He was heading toward his selling spot. He knew a the rich side of Brooklyn and knew how to work the people there, so that it was easy to sell his papes without any problem. That's why he got a hundred papes that day._

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_After Race was done selling his papes, he had about an hour to kill. He could probably get to the muffin stand within a half an hour. So, he went to find the boys. Spot and his friends. He knew they'd settle for a quick game of rummy. No gambling was involved if you didn't want there to be, and with a lot of people, there could be a quick game_.

_Unfortunately, no one he was comfortable playing with was done selling yet, and he couldn't find Spot. He must have been selling at the opposite end of Brooklyn that day. So, Racetrack gave up and headed toward the muffin stand._

_When he got there, only Blink and Boots had stopped for lunch, but no Dutchy. No one was worried. He probably just recently got the time from someone and was on his way, or decided to stay a little while and sell more papes. Blink and Boots weren't done yet. They both bought sixty papes and Blink had 32 more to sell, while Boots had 25 more to sell. _

_They all bought a muffin from the muffin lady with one cent. She was kind and old. Blink got a bluberry muffin, Race got a corn muffin, and Boots got a corn muffin as well. They sat on the steps of the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House and talked to some Brooklyn newsies who stopped for lunch. They explained that Spot went out to buy a hot dog by the hot dog stand, a couple of blocks down. An hour passed and still no Dutchy. Boots and Blink and most of the other newsies went back to selling papes. Those who were done, like Racetrack, went inside. These newsboys included Spot (who had come back from flirting with a young ribbon seller, and from buying a hot dog) and five other newsboys. They invited Race to come in for a game of cards. Racetrack refused, explaining he should wait for Dutchy. _

_Another hour passed. It was two o'clock. Boots went back early to Manhattan to get the evening papes, while Blink finished selling his last Morning paper. When he came back to where he was sure Dutchy and Race would be, he saw Race fiddling with his pocket watch, but no Dutchy. When Race looked up, he looked pissed. _

"_I'm glad you're here. We gotta go look foah him. I'll get Spot and Riff," Race said, standing up. Riff was the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies at the time. He was three years older than Spot. Riff was seventeen. The older boy was good at keeping his newsies in line. _

"_Do you really think Riff will help us, Race?" _

"_I'll get down on my knees if I have to. I gotta to find Dutchy; I'm late for the afternoon races at Sheepshead," Race replied, before knocking on the door._

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_The boys had been looking for an hour. Racetrack covered the area assigned to him, and headed for the bridge, just because it was in the area he was in, and he thought he should look there. It took him about another hour to walk all the way across, then walk back. He asked people on the bridge about Dutchy, giving his real name and description. No one saw him, or showed any interest._

_When Race got off the bridge, from his original starting point, he continued to look around, even more carefully. No Dutchy. The boys said they would meet up at the lodging house. _

_Race was starting to get a little worried. Not that he should be. Dutchy could have just walked back to Manhattan, but it wasn't like him to just up and leave without anyone knowing. Dutchy wasn't one to be mysterious. He didn't like too much attention, but he wasn't as mysterious as, perhaps, he thought he was. When he got back he saw Blink kneeling on the ground, hunched over something, rocking back and forth. When he got closer, he realized he was rocking a body back and forth. He could hear Blink mumbling something. He was mumbling and mumbling. It became clear in a few minutes, that he was praying. He could also hear the body gasping, struggling for air. Race saw Dutchy's face covered in blood. He saw he lost his glasses. His shirt was torn and his suspenders gone. His shirt was torn open, so you could see his torso. It was bruised and had knife slashes._

"_He was jumped," Blink looked up at Race when he was done praying. Riff had come at the point, and exclaimed with a barely audible, "Holy crap."_

"_Spot went to get the doctor," Blink told the two boys._

"_He was jumped for his money. He didn't have any. They did this to him in payment for his debt. That's all he explained," and that's all Dutchy ever explained to anybody, but Race knew. Dutchy wasn't an orphan. His family couldn't afford to keep him at home. He was the oldest of four boys and was trying desperately hard to support himself and his family. His two of his younger brother's shined shoes and the youngest was only two and couldn't do too much of anything. _

_Dutchy was desperate for money. He'd do anything for his family. Race knew that Dutchy got in a bad deal with someone. He paid an older guy for watches so he could sell them by the race tracks at the evening races at Sheepshead. That's how Race found out. Dutchy only told Race, Specs, and his younger brother, Chuck, who was 3 years his junior. _

_It turns out Dutchy neglected to give the guy his fifty percent of what he sold. Dutchy only had to pay three dollars for twenty watches to sell, and then give fifty percent of what he sold to his boss, Mr. Dratch. If he didn't sell all twenty watches, he was alowed to give them back to Mr. Dratch, instead of the fifty percent. That seemed like a good enough deal. This time, no watches came back, but Mr. Dratch didn't get his fifty percent, either. _

_In truth, Dutchy had been jumped for the watches. For some reason, Mr. Dratch didn't believe him, so instead of just firing him, he had his boys follow Dutchy around for the fifty percent that was owed to him. If he didn't have it after a week, they would "take care of it". They did. They jumped him. The good news was, Dutchy didn't have to deal with them anymore, because Dratch was "merciful" like that. His debt was paid with blood._

_Race stood there gaping at this stranger lying infront of him. This wasn't Dutchy. It couldn't be. After a while, Race snapped out of it. He crouched down next to Dutchy and wiped strand of blond hair from his sweating face. _

"_Hang in there, Buddy," Race whispered, "I'm heah foah ya. I ain't leavin' your side. Don't you give up on us."_

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Race was like that. He was always there for the people he loved the most. Blink would never forget how many times Dutchy, or Skittery, or Blink _himself_ would go to Race with his problems. He always had such great advice, like, "Suck it up and fahget about it!"

Or

"Get over it, you scum!"

Or

"Get your ass in his face and soak him!"

His advice may not have always worked, but Race had a reputation for being a fun guy to be around. He was good at making people crack a smile or crack up.

"Hang in there, Buddy," Ryan whispered to his friend. "Hang in there, Race. I'm heah foah ya. I ain't leavin' your side. Don't you give up on me...

...or I might just have to soak ya."

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I hope this was good.

Tell me how you like it...or how you don't like it.

Give me suggestions or comments, or concerns!


	15. The End

Chapter 15:

Hey, sorry it took so long, guys. All the chapters have been proofread and revised.

No one told me I was going to be so busy junior year!

–Anyway, here's the story! Enjoy!

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Three days later, Race was "okayed" for surgery. The chances were slim, however, that he was going to make it. The doctor didn't feel comfortable moving him into the hospital, so Jack and Ryan prepared a place within the house for the doctor to operate in. The boys washed down the dining room table and layered clean, white blankets over it. This was to be the makeshift operating table. They lighted the room with candles and unshaded the windows by completely taking down curtains. Then, they took Tony down from the room and laid him across the table. The doctor set out all his operating utensils for the surgery. Before the boys left the room Jack asked, "How long?" he asked Dr. Bronnius and the assisting nurse.

"If all goes well, no less than an hour," he replied with a sympathetic grin. "Pray."

"Pray?"

"Pray. My operations go better with God on my side," explained the young doctor. Jack grinned and turned on his heal. Without any other words to say, he and Ryan left the room. They walked out of the house and onto the front porch.

"What do we do now?" asked Ryan. He rubbed the place his eye should have been, under his patch. He was exhausted, and sometimes he rubbed that spot as a sign of weariness. Nobody, not even he understood why he did that.

"Get to work, I guess. No use just standin' heah for an hour," Jack stated with a shrug. Without turning back to look at his brother, he walked ahead to the stable to feed his horses and milk his cow, leaving his brother to plow the fields...or something. Instead, Ryan just waited. He would later change his mind to work in the field a little bit, but first, he sat and waited. He couldn't work, knowing his friend could die on the operating table. Jack handled his worries differently. He had to distract himself. He didn't like to think about things. That explains a lot, doesn't it?

Back at the stable, Jack got to work milking the cow. By the time he was done sweat already began to dampen the back of his neck, and upon his brow. Then, he got to work with the horses. He fed them, then began to brush them down. After he finished the mare, Henrietta, he got to work on Caesar. Caesar was a uniquely colored pinto. He brushed him slowly. Stroke by stroke, Jack began to feel something inside him. His gut felt like it was turning. He ignored it and kept on brushing. Then, he felt it again. He still tried to ignore it, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Finally, Jack felt something rise up into his throat. He staggered out of the stall and released the bile out of his body. He used to throw up when he was overly apprehensive about something as a child. He never expected to handle his fear this way as an adult. It was this gross physical release that made Jack realize that he needed to release something emotionally.

Jack wasn't necessarily what you'd call a God-fearing man, but just then, he felt the need to pray. He bent down on his knees, looked up at the ceiling of the stable and folded his hands together.

"God, please. Please, I know that Tony and I ah probably not one of your favorite people dese days, but I gotta ax you...please...don't take him from me. Give him another chance! Please God! Be with that doctah in there. He used to be such a good kid. You know that. I know that kid is still in there somewhere. Please, let him live, God! Please."

"I hate to interrupt," said a voice from the door way. Jack turned around. There was a tall man, with eyes so similar to his own.

"Pop?"

"Son."

Jack ran to the older man. He looked good. He had on a new suit and a hat.

"How–"

"How did I get out? Or how did I find your house?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well, I young man came to visit me. He had his hat on low, and I wasn't able to see his face. He said he had evidence that I was innocent, and as soon as Frankie Diaz is dead, the evidence will reemerge and he would find a detective and a lawyer for me, and try to get me another hearing. Then he left. Six hours after the announcement of Diaz's death, I had a lawyer. Then, I was tried again and found innocent of all charges," explained Mr. Sullivan.

"What was da ev'dence?"

"Him."

"_Him_?"

"Indirectly, so, yes. He was interviewed by my lawyer, and the opposing lawyer, and the judge himself...just to get his testimony. This was after he was in jail. It was Anthony, Francis. Anthony was willing enough to free me. He said he was a witness and he had evidence that I wasn't a culprit, but a victim, and he gave the court a journal of Mr. Jacobs. He stole it, of course, but he gave it to the court and it was evidence enough that I never did anything illegal. His testimony and Jacobs's diary was enough to get my verdict repealed.

When I found out the state Little Tony was in, though, I would have went back to jail just to get him out."

"He wasn't in jail for you, Pop," explained Jack.

"No. I know. Just the same. I would give up my freedom for all three of you boys, just so you could have a normal life. I wish I could have done more for you kids, Frank."

"No, Pop–"

"Where's Ryan?"

"Pop?!" Ryan shouted from the stable entrance.

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Mr. Sullivan re-told the story to Ryan, who was dumbfounded. The boys then told _Anthony_'s story to their father; and it was his turn to be dumbfounded. The three men sat on the porch, now.

"Pop, if I knew he had a diary...It would have been so easy to get...I just—"

"Yes, and you would have jeopardized your own family. Your wife's father. Anthony ransacked the house after he found out about his death. It was right before his funeral. He told me that as soon as he got into town he found the Jacobs' house and rummaged through, everything. I still don't know if he knew there was a diary in the first place or if he was just rummaging, relentlessly, trying to find answers and he just happened to come upon the diary," explained Mr. Sullivan, leaning back on the rocking chair.

"But how'd you find Jack's house here in Sante Fe?" asked Ryan. He was sitting on the porch steps, fiddling with a carving knife and a block of wood.

"Anthony gave me directions," he explained before yawning. "So what is Anthony planning on doing upon recovery?"

"Probably continue running. He has no choice. He will never be free," Ryan stated with a look of sorrow and pity for his friend. Ryan looked bedraggled. He also knew his father kept staring at his eyepatch. He'd tell his story about _that_ some other time.

Jack leaned back against his own chair and smiled. Any grudge he had against Anthony was gone, now. He freed his father, and that was a debt that Jack could never repay. Anthony brought his family back together. In a week, his wife would come back with his child and maybe Ryan would stay, and his father could live with them. Jack would finally have a family again. This made his smile broaden. It was taken away, however, with one thought. _But what about Race?_

"He'll figure out somthin'. He always does," replied Jack, with a reassuring smile. Jack stretched out his arms, flexing his muscles. He concentrated on each muscle, one at a time on each arm, until he knew each muscle was completely relaxed. Then, he placed his hands behind his head. His hair was getting too long for his liking. He needed a trim. It was a while since he had a haircut. He liked to have Sarah do it. He didn't like the barber in town. His name was Oscar. He only knew one other Oscar and he didn't like _him_ that much, either. There was another person in town he didn't particularly like. His boss. His boss loved him. He always called him funny. "You're a funny kid, Sullivan." Jack changed his name back to Sullivan when he got married, but everyone who knew him as Jack still called him Jack. Even Ryan still called him Jack. It was what everyone was used to. Here in town, people only knew him as Frank or Francis. It took him a while to get used to his own name.

Jack looked over at Ryan. His shirt was wrapped around his head. Jack assumed he was protecting his head from the sun, but risked the rest of his body, getting burned. As a result, Ryan already started to get a nice golden color along his back and shoulders. Ryan was sitting on the porch step, leaning against a pillar that connected the roof to the porch. The porch rapped around the whole front part of the house. Ryan said once that if he settled down out of the city one day, he wanted a house with a wrap around porch like this one. Ryan took the shirt off of his head to scratch it. He pulled his hand away and looked under his nails at the snow-white dandruff flakes under his nails. He always had problems with dry skin. His scalp was no exception. He sighed. _Oh, well._ He hoped his kids didn't have problems like this. Then he thought, _But who cares if they do? Honestly! There are a lot more problems to be worrying about. Worse than skin problems, anyway. Its just annoying, though. Purely annoying._

Jack chuckled to himself, at the look on his brother's face at the sight of whatever it was, under his nails. Then he looked at his father, who was smiling at him. He smiled back.

"I love you, Pop," he said. His father smiled even wider.

"I love you, too, son. I love you boys...even that little rascal in there," he pointed with his thumb at the house, where Anthony was still under the knife.

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"_Do you think Pulitzer will listen to our demands?" Jack asked Race. They were both walking back to the lodging house. He, Blink, and Racetrack spent the day at the tracks. They each placed a tiny bet on a horse called _Snowball_. It ended up that they one and they put all their winnings together to buy a meal at _Tibby's

"_Why ah you askin' me, Jack? You stahted dis whole t'ing. Now you have doubts?" _

"_Nah, its not dat, Racetrack. I just wanna heah what you think," replied Jack looking ahead at the distance between where they were at that moment and the lodging house. They still had about two blocks to go._

"_I t'ink dat if he don't listen, I'm packing my bags and getting my ass outa heah. You, me, and Blink. We'll go to Santa Fe and work on a ranch," Race said with a chuckle. The other boys smiled at the thought. _

"_We'll always be friends, right?" asked Blink. _

"_Suah, Blinky. Why?" asked Race, a bit confused._

"_I just...well we've been friends forever, and sometimes friends drift apart. I never want that to happen to us," replied Blink. He was always the thoughtful member of the trio. Racetrack flashed him one of his crooked smiles._

"_We ain't just friends, Blink. We's family. Nothin'll teah us apaht. Ain't dat right, Jacky-boy?" Race said with a quick grin, and without waiting for an answer, he stole the cigar that was hanging from Jack's lip and ran up the street._

"_Hey, Race! Give dat back! Dat's mine! Hey!" Jack yelled as he ran after him. Blink struggled along behind him; he was having trouble keeping up, for he was laughing so hard. _

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Anthony woke up with an immense pain in his chest. It hurt so bad, he moaned, unable to scream. It felt like someone lost something in his chest and was looking for it with some cold metal...thing. He slowly opened his eyes and saw two masked bodies hovering over him. Neither looked like anyone he recognized. One of the bodies looked at him and her eyes widened. "He's awake, Doctor."

Doctor?! He lowered his chine to look at his chest. It was _open_. He screamed. His pain seemed to get worse by the second.

"Get some ether, quick!" the doctor yelled. Before Tony could plead, "Please don't kill me," the nurse put a mask type thing over his face and poured a few drops of something on the top. He made the mistake of breathing in the smelly substance and then he felt like he was flying for a minute. Then he was asleep.

"What a poor young man," the nurse sighed. She brushed Tony's hair out of his perspiring face. His breathing was ragged and the nurse could tell he was in pain, even though he was in a deep sleep. The doctor knew that he would have to work fast or he might lose his patient.

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Back outside, Jack, Ryan, and their father set up a card game as they waited for the operation to end. It was a terrifying period. Jack couldn't concentrate on his cards, and Ryan was jittery. Their father was silent and patient. Eventually, they just gave up with the card playing and sat in silence. Jack wondered if Tony was better off dead. His brother was right, _What if he never stops running_. _If he's caught by the bulls he's dead, anyway. _He covered his face in frustration. Ryan looked over at him and understood exactly what he was thinking. He looked back down at his feet. Mr. Sullivan, who had previously collected all the playing cards that weren't being played and began to shuffle them out of boredom. It saddened him that such a good boy like Anthony must live this way. It didn't make any sense at all.

After another hour of waiting on the porch, Jack stood up and paced for another five minutes. He walked back and forth, from one end of the wrap around to the other. After five minutes he stopped and said under his breath, "They should have been done by now."

Ryan scrunched up his nose. They were so close to where the operation was taking place, they could smell the blood. The moisture in the air helped the smell travel. Sometimes Jack would peer in the window to try and get a look, but the doctor's body was in the way. He did see a lot of blood and that made him nauseous. Ryan remained still during the duration of the operation.

After another dreadfully long thirty minutes later, the doctor appeared on the porch and asked, "Could one of you boys help me lift him to his room. Jack volunteered. Ryan seemed to be paralyzed from where he sat. Jack went inside and saw his friend as pale as snow on the dining room table.

"I have a stretcher that we could use to carry him into his room," whispered Dr. Bronnius. He did not want to wake up his patient. He bent down and picked up a stretcher that was leaning against the doorway. Jack helped the doctor carefully move Anthony, who was lain at the center of the table, to one side of the table so they could place the stretcher beside him. Once that was done, Jack helped the doctor use the sheets that Anthony was laying upon to lift him up onto the stretcher. After that, Jack grabbed the end nearest Tony's head, and the doctor grabbed the other end. They slowly carried Anthony to his room and helped him onto the bed. Jack pulled the bed sheets up to Tony's chest. Dr. Bronnius turned toward the door and began to walk out. Jack was reluctant to follow, but he did, leaving his friend alone in the bedroom. They left the house and entered the porch. Dr. Bronnius began to strip off his bloody operation gown, revealing a clean suit underneath. The nurse was still inside cleaning up. The doctor inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

"The operation was more difficult than I thought. I don't know if we waited long enough for the swelling to go down. We almost lost him. There is no guarantee that he will live through the week. Don't give him any solids to eat. It will be best if he stuck with tea, water, and chicken broth. I will check on him once a day. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything more," replied the doctor in a weary voice.

"You've done enough, Doctah," Jack said, with gratitude shining through his eyes. Even if Race did not survive the week, the doctor gave him a small chance of survival. The doctor nodded, accepting Jack's "thanks". "Would you like to stay foah dinnah?"

"Nah. I should get home to my wife. Good luck, boys. I'm sorry...I–"

"Don't be sorry," Ryan finally spoke up. He stood from his sitting position and shook the Doctor's hand, then went inside, just as the nurse was coming out. He walked through the dining room and saw blood that would be forever stained on the table. He knew that if Tony's blood seeped through all those sheets and into the wooden table, a lot of blood was lost. He made his way into the room that Tony was residing in and saw, not Tony...not his Racetrack, but a sickly figure lying in a bed. He looked like a ghost with really dark hair. Ryan walked toward him and grabbed his hand and bent down next to the bed. There was a chair next to him, but he didn't notice. He knelt beside the bed and held Race's hand. He put his hand to his face, so Race could feel his tears. To Ryan, Tony would never stop being Race.

"I hate you!" he cried. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU BASTARD! I HATE YOU! Look at what you did to yourself, Race. You could have been something. You could have been _somebody_! You could have been a jockey. You wanted to be a jockey, remember? Remember Jerry? You remember him, don'cha? You lost all that! It's all your fault! You did this to yourself! You stupid bastard! You're an idiot, Race! You know that? You're an idiot! I hate you!"

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But Anthony _did_ survive the week. He survived the month. Then he just survived. He worked as a ranch hand for Jack, alongside Ryan and Mr. Sullivan. He had to change his name, again. He was now William Galazzo, his mother's maiden name. However, Jack, Ryan, and Sarah (who was back on the ranch now with their child, Francis Jr.) still called him Racetrack. Even Mr. Sullivan had taken to calling him by that name.

Anthony stayed with Jack and Ryan, and their family (Ryan's family, who had lived up in New York if you remember, came up to Sante Fe to live with him in a house close to Jack's). Race built a house, with the help of Ryan, Jack, and Mr. Sullivan, right next to Jack's, and they shared the ranch for as long as Race resided there.

The ranch turned out to be very profitable.

Racetrack never found a wife, for he was still in love with a certain woman who was married to a certain famous jockey. Every woman he got involved with, he compared to her. No one was able to measure up. Despite this, Racetrack was happy. He ended up keeping in touch with Jerry and his wife. The were doing well, and that was good enough to make Racetrack happy. That, my friends, is how you know you're really in love: when you're happy just knowing that your loved one is happy, no matter what.

Racetrack lived peacefully with the Sullivan's for five years, even going to church with them on Sundays (Sarah made them go). He enjoyed it. He enjoyed this life. However, after five years, he was discovered and was forced on the road, once again, trying to hide from the bulls. After another year of this, Jack read in the paper that Race had put a gun to his head and ended his life, but not before mailing him a box, containing Race's pocket watch.

Race's funeral was held in New York. It was Race's home; it always was. The ceremony was beautiful and _all_ of Race's friends were there. There was not one dry eye in the house.

Race's life became legendary. Books were made about the famous outlaw. One special series was written by a famous journalist, Brian Denton. He called it, _The Legend of the Great Racetrack Higgins_. There were six books in the series, the second one contained the famous 1899 Newsies Strike. He titled it _The Legend of the Great Racetrack Higgins: The King of New York. _The last book even contained several pictures of Racetrack, including his tombstone that read:

"_Anthony Daniel 'Racetrack' Higgins_

_A loyal friend and overall great guy_

_Your life was full of adventure_

_We hope you find as much adventure _

_ After life._

_ Good Bye Racetrack_".

Goodbye Racetrack Higgins.

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The End!!!!

I hope you all liked it. I know the whole weird wound thing was...well...weird...

These things don't come out of my head all the time, I guess I was feeling creative that day.

I hope the ending was okay. This is the first story I actually finished on


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